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“OH, ULDENE !” SHE CRIED, “HE’S ACTUALLY FOLLOWING US l” 

See Page 153 . 


BY FATE. 


PARTED 


a Wood. 


Laura Jean Libbey, 

1/ 

Author of “ Ione,” “ A Mad Betrothal,” “ Miss Middle- 

ton’s Lover,” Etc. 


ILL US TLA TED B Y HARR Y C. ED WARDS. 


^ COPYRIGHT ^ 

SEP M 4 v I 

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^ASRINGT*' ' 


NEW YORK : 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Publishers. 


THE CHOICE SERIES: TSSUEO 8E Ml -MONTHLY. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, TWELVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. 21, 
SEPTEMBER 15, 1890. ENTERED AT THE NEW YORK, N. Y., POST OFFICE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER. 




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Copyright, 1887 and 1890, 

By ROBERT BONNER’S SONS. 


( All rights reserved.') 














PRESS OF 

THE NEW YORK LEDGER 
NEW YORK. 



PARTED BY FATE. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE BEAUTIFUL, MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 

The long sea-beach lies barren and white, 

(Oh, the wind and the salt, salt spray !) 

The light-house glares from the stony height 
Where cliff and sky are gray. 

The long sea-beach lies lonely and bare, 

(Oh, the wind and the salt, salt spray !) 

The simple fisher-folk do not dare 
Come down at close of day. 

Yet, ever, they say, the dreary coast 
(Oh, the wind and the salt, salt spray !) 

Is haunted by some unresting ghost 
That mourns some crime away. 

Shirley Wynne. 

“ I wonder if it is true that coming events cast their 
dark, grim shadows on before ? I have had such a 
strange foreboding of impending evil all day long, and 
as night draws nearer, my heart grows heavier and 
heavier, ” . - 


8 


THE BEAUTIFUL, MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 


A slight, girlish figure springs up from the white 
sands as she utters the words, and turns away from the 
sea with a shudder, walking hurriedly up the steep, 
narrow, irregular path that leads to the arched entrance 
of Black-Tor Light-House. 

The warm September afternoon is drawing to a close. 
The lurid rays of the setting sun glint with a touch of 
gold the picturesque Florida coast, the motionless sea, 
and the light-house that rises like a towering monument 
in gray stone out of the curling waves which surround 
it, and the narrow strip of fertile island, dotted with 
dense thickets of palm and wind-blasted orange trees, 
on which it stands. 

The heat, for this season of the year, has been almost 
intolerable, and night is coming on in sullen sultriness. 
For hours no breath of air has stirred the leaves of the 
trees, or broken the calm of the purple sea. 

It is the dead calm which, in tropical lands, precedes 
the hurricane of the September tempest. 

The slim figure, flitting up the path, sinks down on 
the worn door-sill of the light-house, anxiously watching 
the dark, warning clouds that creep over the sky in 
advance of the on-coming night. 

“The storm will break before Mark returns from 
Rocky Point, ” she murmurs. “ What can detain him ? 
He should have been here by noon/’ 

Even as she spoke, a few rain-drops splashed upon her 
upturned face. 

“ It’s coming,” she cried, in affright, straining her eyes 
toward the distant line of shore. “ The terrible storm ! 
God watch over Mark, spid speed his boat safe home !” 

As she gazed, the gloaming deepened into inkv dark- 
ness, and the storm began. 

The slender palms bent to and fro like reeds before 


THE BEAUTIFUL, MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 


9 


the wind. Lightning flashed luridly, and terrific crashes 
of thunder mingled with the torrent of rain, lashing the 
angry sea into turbulent waves that rose mountain high, 
beating with wild, mad fury and mighty roar against 
the impregnable rocks of the old gray light-house. 

Mark Sefton, the keeper of the light, had gone to 
Rocky Point early that morning, and all the way the 
parting words of his pretty young wife haunted him, 
try as hard as he would to forget them. 

“ Don’t go, Mark,” she had pleaded, earnestly. “ I feel 
sure something will happen before you return. I have a 
presentiment — ” 

“ Nonsense,” he had cut in, with a hearty cheery 
laugh. “ Don’t be foolish and whimsical, Nella. Noth- 
ing is going to happen. Nothing could happen. I shall 
be back before the storm sets in, and in time to light 
up.” 

Darkness had crept on, the storm had burst, but 
where was Mark ? 

Suddenly Nella remembered the light. She had quite 
forgotten it. Great Heaven ! what if any ship was out 
in that gulf of blackness without that beacon light to 
guide her ? 

With winged feet Nella sped up the spiral stairway 
that led to the summit of the great tower. A moment 
more and a broad glare of light shot out from the great 
lamp, sending a ruddy glow over the vortex of seething 
waters that lashed the walls of the old light-house till 
it trembled and rocked on its foundation. 

“ Heaven grant that no vessel is out breasting the 
fearful storm — to have need of the signal in the tower 
to warn her off the dangerous reefs.” 

Hark ! what was it that sounded over the fierce roar 


10 THE BEAUTIFUL, MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 

of the maddened elements, and the shrill, piercing cries 
of the storm-driven sea-gulls ? 

Nella Sefton strained her ears to listen. The sound 
was repeated in quick succession. Suddenly the horri- 
ble truth burst upon her. The lamp had been lighted 
too late . A ship is in distress. In the inky darkness she 
has drifted on to the fatal rocks, and is signaling for 
help. 

Boom ! boom ! boom ! peal the minute guns. 

Nella Sefton, clinging to the rails of the spiral stair- 
way, watches the horrible scene from the tower, as the 
blinding flashes of lightning reveal it to her gaze, in 
terror too great for words. 

In the meteoric light she sees the great ship strike the 
fatal rock, and dark forms casting themselves into the 
seething whirlpool. Then darkness reigns. 

Mark/’ she moans, “ God save you from being on the 
sea to-night !” 

Another flash, and she sees a dark object one instant 
high on the mad waves, then hurled beneath them. It 
is a plank with a dark figure clinging to it. His white 
face was turned to her for one awful instant ; and the 
wildest cry that ever fell from human lips burst from 
Nella Sefton’s. She had seen and recognized — Mark. 

But in this appalling moment her daring courage did 
not forsake her. In that glance she had realized his 
peril, and she knew the only means of saving him would 
be to fling him the life-rope. 

If he were to miss it, that meant death — death in the 
horrible sea she had always dreaded so much ! but, ah ! 
she must riot think of that now. 

Down the spiral stairway Nella flew like a storm- 
driven swallow, out of the light-house, and out on the 
sands. The flying spray dashed in her face, and the 


THE BEAUTIFUL, MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 


11 


fierce tempest almost hurled her from her feet, but she 
scarcely heeded the hurricane. 

A moment more, that seemed the length of eternity, 
and she had unfurled the great coil of rope which was 
made fast at one end to the iron ring embedded in the 
solid rock. 

And over the wild fury of the storm, the man clinging 
to the plank heard her voice. 

“ The rope, Mark ! Catch the rope ! M 

Once, twice it eluded his frantic grasp. Again it was 
hurled out over the mountain waves. Oh, God ! would 
he reach it, or miss it ? Nella could only fall on her 
knees and pray. A breathless moment of horrible sus- 
pense. God had answered Nella’s prayer. Mark had 
seized the life-rope in his strong right hand. 

Terror lent strength to Nella’s slender arms. Bracing 
herself firmly against the projecting rock, she succeeded 
in drawing Mark to the shore. 

As his feet touched the sand and he clambered up on 
it with her aid, she discovered it was not a plank to which 
he clung, but the body of a woman. 

A moment more and he had staggered, panting and 
exhausted, into the living room, followed by Nella, and 
had lain his dripping burden down upon the old chintz- 
covered settee. 

“ Never mind me. Do what you can for them, Nella,” 
he said. “ There’s two of ’em. I picked them up in the 
water, just before my boat struck the rocks, and threw 
us into the waves.” 

As he spoke, he threw back the dark cloak which 
enveloped the unconscious figure, and Nella saw a tiny 
infant, which the woman held clutched tightly in her 
arms. 

But it was not the sight of the child, pitiful as the 


12 


THE BEAUTIFUL, MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 


scene was, that brought that startled cry to Nella Sef- 
ton’s lips. It was the woman’s face, whom the husband 
had saved at the perilous risk of losing his own. 

It was a face as gloriously beautiful as a poet’s dream, 
or artist’s ideal ; pallid as marble, framed in a mass of 
dark curling hair, lying in short clusters over her brow, 
from which the water dripped in tiny pools ; eye-brows 
dark and perfectly arched ; and lashes long and silken, 
curling like fringes over the perfect rounded cheeks — a 
dimpled chin, and lips that seemed too delicately curved 
and beauteous to have ever been invested with the breath 
of life. 

A strange, subtle, fierce, jealous pang shot through 
Nella’s heart as she gazed. The rapt admiration in 
Mark’s eyes pained her — she could not tell why. 

But there was no time to waste precious moments, 
standing there idly, gazing at the helpless creatures. 

Heedless that she herself was drenched, Nella sent 
Mark from the room, and set about restoring the waifs. 

In a trice she had divested them of their clothing, 
wrapped them in soft woolen blankets, and, with Mark’s 
help, bore them to her own chamber, where her own 
slumbering, fair-haired baby — little Verlie — lay. 

And there, a few moments later, under the influence 
of the powerful stimulants which had been administered. 
— the beautiful young stranger opened her great, dark, 
velvety eyes ; and they flared wonderingly not into 
Nella’s, but up into Mark’s face. 

“ Where am I, and where is baby ?” she murmured, 
faintly. 

“ Here is the little one ; you are both safe and sound, 
and in good hands,” responded Mark, cheerily, as he 
placed the little one in her arms. 


THE BEAUTIFUL, MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 


13 


At that instant memory surged back again to her 
overwrought brain. 

“Oh, I remember — I remember all,” she cried, with a 
wailing shriek. 

“The voyage on shipboard, the storm, the fatal rocks, 
the struggling in the wild sea with baby. Why did 
you save me,” she cried out, sharply, “when I wanted so 
much to die ? — only to die and end it all. Heaven 
knows it would have been best for baby, too, if we had 
died together in the waves.” 

One small hand caressed the baby’s face, while passion- 
ate sobs shook her frame. A beautiful, white, shapely 
hand it was, on which a wedding-ring shone. 

“ Do not talk like that, dear lady,” cried Nella, aghast. 
“ Thank God that you and your baby were rescued, and 
are safe.” 

“ The world narrowed down to a grave, baby,” she 
moaned, paying no heed to Nella’s words. “ Life is too 
hard and cruel. I should not begrudge you your poor, 
hapless existence ; but, oh, it would have been better 
for both you and me if we had died.” 

“ She is delirious, poor thing,” said Mark ; “we must 
get the doctor from Rocky Point to-morrow.” 

The beautiful stranger turned her face to the wall, and 
during all the long hours of that terrible night, while 
the hurricane raged outside, she never spoke — never 
moved — the great, dark, burning eyes never left the small 
picture of the “ Saviour on the cross ” hanging there. 

“Would the baby live through the terrible ordeal ?” 
Nella wondered, taking the little mite, pityingly, from the 
mother’s unresisting arms. Ah, it seemed not ; its little 
life hung on such a slender thread. It was chilled and 
half drowned from the terrible exposure. 

But a glad morn was born of this darksome night. 


14 : THE BEAUTIFUL, MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 

The gale had subsided. The waves lay smiling, dimpled, 
calm, under the golden rays of the rising sun, without a 
sign to mark the spot where, such a few short hours 
before, so many souls had been hurled ruthlessly into 
eternity. 

As morning broke the beautiful stranger grew rapidly 
worse, and Mark Sefton set out hurriedly to Rocky 
Point for a doctor. 

“ It will be useless ! useless !” she murmured, cling- 
ing to Nella’s hand, and turning those strangely burning, 
luminous eyes upon her face. “ I shall die within the 
hour. Something in my heart tells me so.” 

A terrible convulsion shook her frame as she spoke, 
which was rapidly followed by a second and a third. 
And looking at the white, stark face, Nella saw that the 
shadow of death was indeed creeping over it. 

Oh, if the flickering flame of life might but last until the 
doctor’s arrival ! But it was not to be. 

The stranger grew worse so rapidly that Nella’s alarm 
increased with each passing moment. 

“ My life is ebbing out !” she gasped, speaking with 
difficulty. “ But oh ! I cannot die with the dark, horrible 
story I have to tell, untold. I conjure you, for the love of 
Heaven, to listen closely to what I have to say. It is 
the strangest, most pitiful confession that was ever 
forced from human lips.” 

Nella started back with a low cry, a wild, tangible 
thought shaping itself in her mind. Was this beautiful 
young creature a fugitive from justice? Ah, no! It 
could not be that this lovely, girlish face could ever 
have been darkened by the shadow of a crime. 

Then instinctively Nella’s eyes wandered from the 
baby’s face to the wedding-ring the stranger wore. 

“It is not that,” murmured the stricken lady, her 


The beautiful, mysterious stranger. 15 

dark, burning eyes following the other’s gaze and inter- 
preting her thoughts aright. 

“ What I have to tell you my husband, who is dead, 
never knew. Would that my baby might never know !” 
she wailed out sharply. “ It may be kept from her for 
long years ; but on her eighteenth birthday — hark you ! — 
on that fatal day it will burst forth upon the shocked 
and startled world like a skeleton stalking forth from 
the charnel house. And then — oh, God help my little 
baby with such a horrible sword hanging over her inno- 
cent, unconscious head — I dare not think what will hap- 
pen then. 

“ And yet I could not rest in my grave — I dare not 
— with this secret weighing down my soul. I dare not ! 
Yet it is more bitter than death to reveal it. 

“ But promise me first,” she went on, huskily, “ that 
you will take my little babe and care for it as your own. 
Then I will tell you all. 

“ Promise me !” she wailed out, in an agony of 
entreaty. “ I cannot leave baby all alone in the bitter 
world. I am dying ! My moments are fleeting ! For 
the love of Heaven, speak quickly !” 

It was all so sudden Nella could scarcely realize what 
was transpiring. How could she refuse so vital a 
request, with those entreating, burning eyes searching 
her very soul ? 

It seemed to Nella, when she looked back to that 
weird scene in the long, bitter after years which fol- 
lowed, that she had been in a strange dream. 

“ I promise you, lady,” she answered, slowly ; and 
no warning came to her of all that would come from 
this fatal promise. “ If you die I will keep your little 
child, and rear it with my own and care for it as my 


16 


THE BEAUTIFUL, MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 


own. And as I deal by her, so may Heaven deal by 
me,” she added, solemnly. 

“God bless you! You have made death easier to 
bear. Never forget your promise. Remember the list- 
ening angels have heard it, and recorded it up there! 

“ Be kind to her, she is so little, so feeble, so helpless ! 
Tell her about me when she grows up, and how young 
I was to die, but that death would have been welcome 
to me if it had not been for her, because I dreaded leav- 
ing her here. Tell her how I loved her and held her 
close in my arms, until my heart grew cold and her face 
faded from my dying eyes. You will not forget ?” 

“ No,” said Nella, breaking down completely, though 
she had struggled hard to keep back her tears through 
this pitifully pathetic scene ; “ I shall not forget.” 

The hapless young mother kissed the tiny, rosebud 
face, all the passion and anguish of love shining in 
her dying eyes. 

“ Let me hold my baby close in my arms while I tell 
you all,” she whispered, faintly. “ Lock the door, and 
come closer. It is the most pitiful story that ever dark- 
ened a human life, and made me wonder if there is 
peace to be found on the wide earth, and justice in 
Heaven. You will see by this confession that this babe 
must never love , for she must ?iever marry.” 

As this startling sentence fell from her lips a violent 
spasm shook her frame again, and her features grew 
rigid. She started up from the couch with a look of 
frenzy on her ghastly face, as her eyes vainly and mutely 
sought Nella’s. 

How she tried to beat back the wave of death for one 
brief moment. How her fluttering soul clung to its tene- 
ment of clay, to do the bidding of her will, one terrible 
instant ; but, alas ! the words froze on her stiffening lips 


THE BEAUTIFUL, MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 


17 


in a bitter wail ; the dark wave of death closed over her. 
The vital secret which was to bring a world of woe to so 
many lives was destined to remain unrevealed until the 
fatal day she had foretold. 

She had fallen back upon her pillow — dead — with the 
poor, frail babe clasped close to her pulseless heart. 

With a sobbing cry Nella took the child from those 
stiffening arms, placing it in a little crib in an adjoining 
room, close to her own sleeping babe, weeping such tears 
over it as only tender-hearted women can weep. 

“ Poor, desolate little baby !” she sobbed. “ You sleep 
all unconscious of the bitter bereavement that has fallen 
over you. You have lost the best friend the wide world 
held for you — your fair young mother !” 

As she laid the two babes side by side — the one fair, 
the other dark — they opened their eyes wide with won- 
der, and gazed at each other. 

God help poor Nella ! How little she dreamed how 
bitterly the paths of these two were to cross in the after 
years. If she could have read the future, her own heart 
would have broken then and there. 


18 THE GIRL TO WHOM LOVE IS A SEALED BOOK. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE FAIR YOUNG GIRL TO WHOM LOVE MUST BE A 
SEALED BOOK. 

Have you forgotten to-day we must sever ? 

Oh, have you forgotten this day we must part ? 

• It may be for years, and it may be forever; 

Then why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart ? 


Prof. Crouch. 


Dr. Thorndyke’s presence was of little avail when be 
reached the lighthouse with Mark Sefton an hour 
later. 

“ The strange lady is past all aid, sir,” said Nella, 
leading the way into the living room ; “but I should 
like you to look at the child, if you will.” 

Both babes lay side by side. Nella pityingly raised 
the dark-eyed babe and placed it in the doctor’s arms. 

“ It’s so fragile ; do you think it will live, sir ?” 

“ Yes,” he said, slowly, “with proper nursing add- 
ing under his breath, as he studied the wee little pink 
hand intently he held in his own ; “perhaps it would be 
better for her if she did not.” 

Nella’s quick ear had caught the words. 

“ What do you see in the baby’s hand that should 
make you think that?” she cried, with a shudder. 

He pointed to two lines like the veins of a roseleaf in 
the tiny palm. 

“Those are uncommon,” he answered, thoughtfully. 
“ Not one child in ten thousand has them. Heaven for- 
bid that they should.” 



THE GIRL TO WHOM LOYE IS A SEALED BOOK. 19 


“ Why ?” asked Nella, turning pale. 

“They portend a strange fiestiny. I do not like to 
prophesy, but I tell you that the child lying here will 
have an extraordinary life — a wonderful destiny. I am 
no seer to peep into the vailed mysteries of the future — 
no man has that power — but this is no mere coinage of 
imagination ; it is reading aright the lines of true science 
as I find them here. A great genius carries the stamp 
of it on his face. No careful reader of human nature 
fails to detect the ideal face of artist and poet when one 
meets them, or the noble brow of a great soldier. As 
some people make a study of human faces, so I have 
made a study of human hands, and I find plainly enough 
just what I have told you written upon this one. Yes, 
hanging over this little head is a black shadow. Heaven 
grant that it may not obscure the sunshine of her life.” 

Mark Sefton listened in wonder to the strange story 
Nella told him after the doctor took his departure ; nor 
did he demur when she informed him of the vow she 
had made the dying mother to rear the child as her 
own. 

A portemonnaie, containing a little more than a thous- 
and dollars, was found upon the dead woman’s person. 
This, Nella solemnly declared, should go for the educa- 
tion of the child she had left — every cent. 

The marriage ring she had worn had the name Uldene 
engraved in it ; and by this name the child was chris- 
tened — Uldene Sefton. And both Mark and Nella grew 
to love the little waif quite as fondly as they loved their 
own little flaxen-haired Verlie. 

Sixteen years passed by, bringing little change to the 
inhabitants of the isolated island of Black-Tor Light- 
House, save to expand the two infants into wondrously 
beautiful young girls. 


20 THE GIRL TO WHOM LOVE IS A SEALED BOOK. 

Verlie was fair of face, with tender, deep, blue eyes, 
and hair like golden sunshine. And Uldene — ah, how 
shall I find words to describe the dark, wondrous, glow- 
ing beauty of peerless Uldene ? the young girl whose 
life held so tragic a story ! Her face was dark, piquant 
and dimpled, with rounded cheeks and curved lips as 
crimson as the heart of a glowingwild rose ; great dark, 
velvety, Oriental eyes, shaded by the longest and dark- 
est of lashes ; a low broad brow, crowned with rings of 
curling love-locks, darker than a raven’s plume, and a 
saucy, smiling mouth, that seemed made only for rip- 
pling laughter. 

Verlie was of a quiet, retiring temperament, sweet 
and good. Uldene — gay, restless, piquant Uldene, was 
full of faults ; at once the torment and darling of the 
light-house. No human being could hold in subjection 
the fiery untamed spirit of the wilful little beauty, and 
her moods were as changeful as April storms and sun- 
shine. 

She had been sent to boarding-schools without num- 
ber, but she never succeeded in staying a month at any 
one of them. Mark Sefton was always sent for in 
urgent haste, and was always met with the words : 

“We are sorry, sir, but we cannot keep the young 
lady here ; she revolutionizes the whole school, and 
incites the rest of the scholars to mischief and rebel- 
lion.” 

Mark was in despair, yet how could he scold her, with 
those soft, white arms clinging to his neck, and the 
girl’s merry, pealing laughter ringing in his ears, and 
her mischievous face trying to look penitently up into 
his ? 

“ I have no trouble whatever with Verlie,” he declared ; 


THE GIRL TO WHOM LOVE IS A SEALED BOOK. 21 


“ but you, Uldene — what in Heaven’s name am I to do 
with you ?” 

“ Take me away from school ; I know quite enough 
already,” she declared, “ and let me throw those old 
stupid books into the sea. I’d rather read Shakespeare, 
with such sweet romances as Romeo and Juliet in it, or 
thrilling adventures, like the Arabian Nights, and — ” 

“ Hush ! hush !” cut in Mark, with a shudder. “ You 
should think more of entering a convent than hungering 
after the light pleasures of this world.” 

He had remembered suddenly the fatal sentence, that 
had not occurred to him for long years — “ She must 

never love , for she must never marry.” He tried to speak, 
but the words died away on his lips. 

“ A convent, indeed ! Ha, ha, ha ! This is really too 
much !” 

A little hand, white as a lily leaf, had come down 
suddenly over his mouth, and a saucy, gay young voice 
trilled out shrilly in his ear : 

“ Oh ! I can’t be a nun ; I won’t be a nun ; 

I’m too fond of pleasures ; I could never be a nun.” 

“ There’s no use of talking, Papa Sefton,” declared 
Uldene. “ I shall not go to school any more. I warn 
you, and promise you, I shall run away at the first 
opportunity. You might as well think of shutting up a 
skylark in the four walls of a cage as to shut me up in 
the four walls of a school-room.” 

“ What will your mother say to bringing you home in 
disgrace again, Uldene ?” he said, abruptly. “ Remem- 
ber this is the twentieth time ; and now you have 
exhausted every boarding-school in the State.” 

“ Rest assured she has been expecting me,” declared 


22 THE GIRL TO WHOM LOVE IS A SEALED BOOK. 

Uldene, complacently. “ Thirty days is my limit in any 
.school ; and as for being in disgrace, that’s nothing 
new. Just think of the old cat ordering us up to our 
dormitory at eight o’clock, sharp, and every light to be 
out, and us snug in our beds before the next quarter 
hour struck, and on All-Hallow Eve at that. I’m not 
sorry that I put a sleeping potion in madame’s tea, and 
that at midnight every girl in the school crept out to 
the moonlit lawn. Oh ! we had a rousing time, so what 
does it matter if I am sent home in disgrace for plan- 
ning it out and carrying it through ?” 

“ But the rules of the institution should be respected 
and — ” 

“ Fiddlesticks !” broke in the incorrigible, wilful 
beauty. “ When one has to live by rule it is time to 
die. Ah, no ; give me freedom — gayety — life and 

she stretched out her beautiful white arms as though 
she would fain fly away. 

“ What am I to do with this beautiful wild bird ?” 
honest Mark thought, in puzzled bewilderment too great 
for words. 

Mrs. Sefton was quite as distressed and bewildered as 
her husband had been, when Uldene was sent home in 
disgrace from the last school to which they could possi- 
bly send her. What should be done with her now ? 

All at once her woman’s wit came to her rescue. Why 
not send both the girls to spend Christmas with her old 
friend, Mrs. Chester, in Washington ? 

Mrs. Chester was a senator’s wife ; but for all that the 
lady was a staunch, true friend of the Seftons. 

Years ago, brave Mark Sefton had saved her only son, 
a bright lad of fourteen, from drowning, and the lady 
owed him a debt of gratitude which she told herself 
could never be repaid. 


THE GIRL TO WHOM LOVE IS A SEALED BOOK. 23 ( * 

Mark Sefton well knew — even before he wrote her in 
reference to the matter — that the girls would be warmly * 
received. In his letter he had frankly related all of 
Uldene’s strange history, requesting that the knowledge 
that she was not his child should not be divulged to her 
as yet — not until some plan for her future should be set- 
tled ; for they were sorely puzzled as to the meaning of 
those startling words : 

“ She must never love , for she must never marry.” 

Love and marriage seemed only a fitting crown for 
the girl’s bright life. 

There was great consternation at the light-house 
when Mrs. Chester’s reply was received and its contents 
were made known to the two girls. 

Uldene was wild with delight, and Verlie sprang from 
her chair with a low cry and flung her arms around her 
mother’s neck. 

“ We have always been at home on Christmas, 
mamma,” she said. “ I do not think the day would be 
a happy one for me away from you.” 

“ I cannot always expect to have you both with me,” 

Mrs. Sefton answered, laying one hand lovingly on the 
golden head, the other on the dark one. “ Itds best that 
you should see a little of the world ; yes, only just, your 
father says.” 

Uldene soon overcame her sister’s scruples, picturing 
to her what life must be like in the great Northern city ; 
and at length Verlie looked forward to the visit with 
almost as much enthusiasm as Uldene. 

At last the day rolled around on which they were to 
take their departure. Mark and his wife accompanied 
them over to the wharf at Rocky Point, and there put 
them in charge of the captain of the steamer on which 
they were to make the journey. 


24 THE GIRL TO WHOM LOVE IS A SEALED BOOK. 

As the Northern Queen steamed away from the dock, 
and the two slim figures, leaning over the rail of the 
deck waving their handkerchiefs, faded away in the dis- 
tance, lost in the blue line of the horizon, Nella turned 
to her husband with a startled cry. 

“ Oh ! Mark !” she sobbed — holding out her arms to 
the smiling treacherous sea — “ it almost seems as though 
I had lost my darlings forever — that the great, yawning 
sea had swallowed them up, and that I shall never behold 
their faces again !” 

Were her words prophetic ? 

As the shore line grew dim and indistinct, Verlie sank 
down into the nearest seat, sobbing as though her tender 
heart would break. 

“ Why, what a simpleton you are, Verlie,” cried Uldene, 
impatiently. “ One would think, to see you and hear 
you take on, that it was a hardship to leave that lonely 
old place. For my part, I wish I might never see the 
horrid old gray light-house again, and never hear the 
moaning sea dashing against the sands. My heart will 
break when I have to come back to it.” 

“ Oh, Uldene,” cried her sister, reproachfully, “ how 
can you say so, when that dear old island home holds 
all we love on earth — mamma and papa.” 

“ I know,” said Uldene ; “ still I can’t help detesting 
the wild, weird place. I wonder who will come to 
the wharf to meet us, Verlie,” she went on, hastily chang- 
ing her conversation. 44 You know we are to go by 
steamer as far as Baltimore only, then take the cars for 
Washington.” 

44 Perhaps Mrs. Chester’s son — but no ; I had forgot- 
ten. He is off in Europe,” replied Verlie. 

44 Mrs. Chester’s son !” echoed Uldene, aghast. 44 Why, 
I didn’t know she had a son.” 


“ love’s young dream.” 


25 


“ I think I heard mamma saying that, but the conver- 
sation between her and papa broke off abruptly as I 
entered the room.” 

“ Off in Europe ! Oh, that accounts for our being per- 
mitted to come,” declared Uldene, with a shrug of her 
pretty shoulders. “ We should never have crossed the 
threshold of the 4 Castle Dangerous ’ if the young man 
had been at home, for,” she added, with a gay laugh, 
“ mamma and papa seem to look upon young men as 
ogres. I wonder why.” 

Heaven help her ! The dark day came all too soon 
when she knew why. 


CHAPTER III. 

“there’s nothing half so sweet in life as love’s 

YOUNG DREAM.” 

“ No one is so accursed by fate, 

No one so utterly desolate, 

But some heart, although unknown, 

Beats responsive to its own.” 

It was evening when the steamer reached Baltimore ; 
but, much to the dismay of both Uldene and Verlie, 
there was no one at the wharf to meet them. 

It is beyond words to describe the consternation of 
the two girls upon finding themselves alone in a large 
city, and the shadows of night drawing on. 

“Oh, Uldene, what shall we do?” said Verlie, faintly ; 
“I feel so frightened. I wish we had not come.” 


26 


“ love’s young dkeam.” 

“ There is only one thing to be done,’’ said the philo- 
sophical Uldene, “ and that is to inquire where the right 
depot is, and get there the best way we can and take 
the train.” 

The wharf was crowded with the usual bustling throng, 
rushing hither and thither in wild confusion, and Uldene 
gazed around in bewilderment, wondering to whom she 
should address her inquiry ; every one seemed in so 
much of a hurry. 

“ Excuse me ; but I could not help overhearing your 
conversation,” said a young man, close by Uldene’s 
elbow, and who had been watching them intently for the 
last ten minutes. “ I am going to the depot in question. 
I should be delighted in being of service to you by 
showing you the way.” 

Both girls glanced, up with a start of surprise and 
saw, bowing low before them, a very handsome young 
man. 

They were too inexperienced to know that the hand- 
some stranger’s attire was too flashy to become a gen- 
tleman, or read the character unerring Nature had 
stamped on his face. 

“ Oh, sir, if you would be so kind as to show us the 
way, we should be very thankful, indeed,” replied 
Verlie, modestly. 

A slow smile flitted across his dark, mustached face. 

“ It is not very far ; still, we will take a hack,” he said, 
offering one arm to Uldene, the other to her companion. 

Leaving them at the end of the platform, he crossed 
over to the hack stand, and, after a few moments col- 
loquy with the driver, returned for them and conducted 
them to the vehicle, helping in Uldene first, then Verlie, 
and was about to follow himself, when a startling event 
happenecL 


27 


“ love’s young dream.” 

In a single instant two blue-coated denizens of the 
peace sprang forward, one at the horses' heads, the 
other to the stranger’s side, and in a twinkling a pair of 
steel bracelets adorned his white, shapely hands. 

There was a simultaneous scream from both Uldene 
and Verlie as they beheld their escort struggling des- 
perately in the arms of a burly policeman, and heard the 
officer say : 

“We have been searching for you many a day, my fine 
fellow. I am grateful we were on the wharf, eye-wit- 
nesses to what occurred between you and these two young 
girls, and have had the pleasure of intercepting this little 
trip ; otherwise you would have succeeded in deliber- 
ately abducting them." 

Uldene and Verlie would have sprung from the coach 
and fled in terror, but the bluff old policeman bade them 
keep their seats, declaring, as he handed over his mana- 
cled prisoner to his mate, that he himself would see 
them to the depot and put them on the train for Wash- 
ington. 

It was some time before either of the girls could 
recover from the fright caused by this startling experi- 
ence. 

“ Of course, you did not know," said the officer, 
kindly and soothingly. . “ Unsuspecting young girls 
never dream of the mischief that may lie behind a 
stranger’s polite attentions. At all public places we see 
the placards — ‘ Beware of pick-pockets but there 
should be quite as many bearing the warning — ‘ Beware 
of strangers,' for the benefit of the innocent and 
unwary. I hope this may be a lesson to you both. Be 
chary of asking advice or accepting the assistance of 
strange gentlemen." 

“We will," declared Verde, eagerly, 


28 


“ love’s YOUNG DREAM .' 5 


At that moment they reached the depot, and were soon 
ensconced in comfortable seats in the car which was to 
bear them to the capital. 

Their new-found friend took the precaution of tele- 
graphing ahead to Mrs. Chester, whose address they had 
given him, that the young ladies, unattended, would 
reach Washington on the 10:30 express. 

This time a coach was in waiting at the depot. 

“ A servant was sent down to the wharf at Baltimore 
to meet you,” explained the coachman, “ but it seems he 
missed you there.” 

“ It seems like a dream of fairy life,” whispered 
Uldene to her sister, as they were whirled through the 
brilliantly-lighted streets of the gay capital. 

Both Uldene and Verlie had quite expected that the 
lady whose acquaintance their parents so familiarly 
claimed must be some motherly sort of person, living in 
some unpretentious home ; and they were quite shocked 
when the coach stopped before a briliiantly-iighted 
palatial residence, by far the most magnificent on the 
avenue. 

“ The driver must have made a mistake,” cried Uldene, 
in great bewilderment. Mrs. Chester does not live 
here. It is quite impossible.” 

Mrs. Chester did live there, and was waiting on the 
marble steps to receive them, as the carriage dashed up 
to the curb-stone. 

Beside her stood a tall young girl, whom it would 
have been no flattery to have called handsome, had it 
not been for the sneering smile that played about the 
full red lips, and the cold, polished light that gleamed 
in her large gray eyes. 

“ It is really too bad, auntie,” she was saying, softly, 
“ that these country girls should have thrust their pres- 


“ love’s young dream/’ 


29 


ence upon us at this particular time, of all others. It 
will be intensely mortifying to — ” 

“ Hush, Dora,” interrupted Mrs. Chester, in a low, 
pained voice. “ You must remember Mark Sefton, their 
father, once saved my darling Rutledge’s life. We 
must show our gratitude by receiving his daughters 
with all possible kindness. They are, in all probability, 
shy and awkward ; but you must do your best to make 
the timid young strangers feel perfectly at home with 
us, if you wish to study my wishes in this matter.” 

The scorn upon Dora Challoner’s face deepened. She 
watched her aunt descend the steps to meet them, then 
her eyes wandered impatiently down the avenue again. 

A moment later, and Mrs. Chester had led the two 
young girls up to her. 

“ Dora, my dear niece,” she said, “ you must help me 
to welcome our guests. This one,” nodding toward the 
slender figure on her right, “is Verlie Sefton, and this 
is her sister Uldene. They are to remain during the 
winter season with us.” 

Dora raised her eyes, and saw standing before her, 
two of the most beautiful visions of girlhood she had 
ever beheld — one fair as a lily, the other like a dark 
glowing damask rose. 

Her face grew white as marble, and the one swift 
thought that swept through her heart was : 

“ What would Rutledge think when he sees them ? 
Life would be all over for me if his heart should go out 
to the one or the other.” 

She recovered her composure by a violent effort, and 
welcomed them, yet instinctively feeling that one or the 
other would be her rival. 

Dora took them up to the pretty boudoir which they 


30 


“love’s young dream.’ 


were to occupy jointly, and in an hour's time the three 
young girls were warm friends, to all appearances. 

Thus a week passed that was like a dream of heaven 
to both Uldene and Verlie. 

At the end of that time Dora was called away to the 
bedside of a dying relative, and two days later Verlie 
came rushing into her sister’s boudoir with the startling 
intelligence that Rutledge Chester had returned sud- 
denly and unexpectedly from Europe. 

The dark head, running over with curls, was lifted 
suddenly from the ruffled pillows, and Uldene’s dark, 
velvety eyes expanded wider. 

This was early in the morning, and Uldene was not an 
early riser. 

“Did you see him ? And what is he like ?” she asked, 
all in a breath, with all of a young girl’s curiosity. 

Verlie looked perplexed ; then her face brightened. 

“ He looks very brave and good,” she said. 

A shrill peal of laughter, half impatience, broke from 
Uldene’s red lips. 

“ What a description !” she cried. “ What 1 want to 
know is whether he is fair, like the Saxon king, or dark 
like the picture of Romeo or Sir Lancelot. Is he short 
or tall, wicked or good, gay or quiet, clever or stupid ?” 

“ Oh, he is not stupid ; anything but that,” declared 
Verlie, warmly. “ I saw him but a moment, as he; 
passed the vestibule into the drawing-room ; caught but 
one imperfect glimpse of a tall figure, broad-shouldered 
and manly ; a rather haughty face, whose principal 
charm was a pair of large dark eyes, a dark mustache, 
and dark hair. He looks to be about six-and-twenty.” 

“Your glimpse seems to have been a pretty thorough 
scrutiny,” declared Uldene, laughing immoderately. ‘ I 
suppose we shall meet the ogre at the breakfast table.” 


“love’s young dream.” 


31 


Vertie blushed deeply, but did not reply. 

When the two sisters came down-stairs they were 
met at the door of the morning-room by Mrs. Chester, 
flushed with excitement, and happy tears shining in her 
eyes. 

“ I have had a wonderfully pleasant surprise, my 
dears,” she said. “ My son Rutledge returned unex- 
pectedly this morning. Come and be presented to him 
before we go to breakfast.” 

A tall, handsome young man rose from an easy-chair 
by the window as Mrs. Chester and the young ladies 
entered. 

Neither Uldene nor Verlie could ever remember in 
what words that presentation was made. 

Verlie’s sweet dimpled face was crimson with blushes 
as he bowed low before them. Uldene’s was strangely 
pale, and her great, dark, wondrous eyes never left his 
handsome face. 

And that was the beginning of one of the most piti- 
ful stories ever recorded, and which ended in a 
tragedy. 

Sweet, golden-haired Verlie and dark-eyed, passion- 
ate Uldene might have had a pleasant enough life of it 
if their paths had not been crossed by this handsome 
young man. 

The coming doom that wrecked a soul might have 
been averted if Uldene had but heard the story of her 
life from Mark Sefton’s lips, which held the solemn 
warning : 

“ She must never love , for she 7nust never marry'' 


32 


a rival’s bitter jealousy. 


CHAPTER IV. 
a rival’s bitter jealousy. 

Rutledge Chester acknowledged the introduction tc 
the two beauties by a low bow. He was a little bewil- 
dered. He had never before seen two such young girls. 
He thought the golden-haired fairy the sweetest and 
fairest, yet the dark, glowing, tropical beauty of the gi *1 
who stood by her side dazzled him. 

“ What do you think of the senator’s son, Verlie ?” 
cried Uldene, breathlessly, when the two girls found 
themselves alone. “ Is he not grand ? No other word 
would suit him. Do you like him ?” 

Verlie turned aside quickly, but not before Uldene had 
seen a vivid flush pass over her face ; and that did not 
quite please her. 

“ He is very agreeable,” said Verlie. “ I can better 
answer the question if I like him when I have known 
him longer and better.” 

“What a strange, cold nature yours is, Verlie,” cried 
Uldene, impatiently. “I always make up my mind the 
first instant I meet persons, whether I am to like them 
or hate them.” 

“ First impressions are not always correct ones,” said 
Verlie. 

The two girls brought with them an atmosphere of 
youth and gayety to Senator Chester’s stately home. 
No day passed without some amusement. Grand dinner 
parties were given in their honor, to which the elite of 






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a rival’s bitter jealousy. 


35 


the city were invited, balls were given, sleighing parties 
were formed, and parties to concert and theatre. 

And in all these festivities it so happened that Rutledge 
Chester was always the escort of both of his mother’s 
lovely guests. 

This did not please Ulden.e. Secretly she was wishing, 
from the depths of her heart, that Verlie had remained 
at home. 

Two months rolled by on golden wings — months that 
were destined never to be forgotten by both Verlie and 
Uldene — and at the end of that time strangers began to 
see what the stately senator and his wife never dreamed 
of — that both of their beautiful guests loved their 
handsome son. 

But it was quite impossible to decide which — if either 
— would be Rutledge Chester’s choice. He seemed to 
have a kindly liking for beautiful Uldene. He laughed 
with her, talked to her, hung over the piano when she 
sung tender, eloquent love ballads, enjoyed her satire, 
admired her constant animation, for it was impossible to 
feel dull where this beautiful, brilliant beauty was ; but 
it was uncertain whether he loved her. 

Many thought that he preferred the pure and gentle 
girl whose face was like a sunbeam, and whose voice was 
like music. He talked less to Verlie ; but there was 
quite another expression on his face when he addressed 
her — one of the deepest reverence. 

Verlie Sefton, often sitting in the solitude of her own 
room, would allow her thoughts to drift dreamily back 
over the two months she had passed in the senator’s 
home. 

Whether Rutledge Chester liked her or not, she could 
not say ; but she cared for him more than for any one 
she had ever seen, yet she would have died a thousand 


36 


a rival’s bitter jealousy. 


deaths rather than that he should guess her secret. The 
very consciousness that she did care for him made her 
shy, cold and reserved with him ; so much so, that at 
times he left her to seek refuge and amusement with gay 
Uldene. 

And how was it with beautiful, passionate, faulty 
Uldene ? 

It had been “love at first sight ” with her. Her heart 
had gone out to Rutledge Chester when first they met, 
She had said once, in speaking of herself, that, with her 
love would be a fire, not a sentiment. 

Now she was to know how true her words were. 

With such ill-regulated natures as hers — imperious, 
wilful, yet capable of the highest degree of intense 
affection — love knows no moderation, no bounds, no 
medium. 

Loving Rutledge Chester, she had no thought for any 
one else. Her ideas, her hopes all began and ended 
with him. Such natures as hers would show little mercy 
to a riv^l, if fate chanced to place that rival in their 
power. Woe betide the person who might come between 
Uldene and the object of her love. 

It was the restless torrent of love that destroys al/ 
obstacles, that brooks no opposition, that will not be 
stayed, that dashes impetuously on its way, reaching its 
limit, let the cost be what it might, A fire that destroyed 
all that opposed its progress, a fire that would consume 
and burn. Uldene had rightly named it. 

The knowledge of her love for him came to her sud- 
denly, and was brought about in a strange way. 

The horses had been brought around to the curbstone 
one morning for an early canter in the park. Mr. Ches- 
ter and the two girls had set out in the gayest spirits. 

An hour in the park, in the keen, frosty air, had brought 


A RIVAI/S BITTER JEALOUSY. 


37 


roses to the cheeks of both Verlie and Uldene, and 
brightness to their eyes. It was just as they were about 
turning their horses’ heads homeward that a startling 
event occurred. A squirrel darting across the path 
caused Verlie’s horse to rear wildly, and before Rutledge 
Chester could reach out his hand to avert the horrible 
catastrophe, the animal had wheeled suddenly about and 
plunged down the path with the velocity of the wind, 
threatening to throw the white-faced girl who clung to 
him in such terror, at every mad plunge. The kid bridle 
had snapped asunder, and the lovely rider, who had lost 
all control of the animal, swayed to and fro in the sad- 
dle like a slender leaf in a gale. 

The piercing cry that floated back made Rutledge 
Chester’s heart almost cease to beat. He could see that 
it was only a question of a few brief seconds ere the ter- 
rified girl would be dashed from the saddle, meeting 
certain death by striking one of the trees that lined 
either side of the road. 

It was a circular path, and Rutledge Chester knew 
that in a moment of time the horse would be abreast 
again of the spot where he was standing. 

In an instant he had made up his mind what 
course to pursue. He would save sweet Verlie Sefton’s 
life, or he would die in the attempt. Springing from 
his own horse, he turned that and frightened Uldene’s 
into a bridle path, that they might be out of the way • 
‘‘but it was not done an instant too soon. 

Around the circular path, on with the speed of the 
wind came the coal-black horse, and again a wild, pit- 
eous cry floated to Rutledge Chester’s ears ; and that 
cry nerved him for the terrible ordeal that followed. 

He saw that the maddened steed must pass within a 
yard of where he stood fairly rooted to the spot, and if 


38 


a rival’s bitter jealousy. 


he should swerve a single hair’s breadth in his direction, 
the plunging iron hoofs would crush him. 

With a white, determined face, he wound his left arm 
firmly around the trunk of a tree, and stood breath- 
lessly waiting to grasp the broken, swaying bridle of 
the infuriated animal with his strong right arm as it 
dashed past him. 

The few seconds that passed, as he awaited the terri- 
ble moment, seemed the length of eternity. All in a 
moment a strange truth burst upon him — he loved beau- 
tiful, golden-haired Verlie. If fate should part them, 
all happiness in life would be over for him. He realized 
but too well that upon his agility and strength hung 
Verlie’s precious young life. 

Nearer, nearer dashed the coal-black horse with his 
terrified burden ; one brief instant later he was abreast 
of Rutledge Chester, and in that thrilling instant a 
strong right arm flew out with unerring certainty ; a 
hand of steel clutched one of the reins attached to the 
bit. 

There was a powerful lunge forward, that nearly tore 
Rutledge Chester’s right arm from its socket. If his left 
arm had not been wound so firmly around the trunk of 
a tree we should have had to record a tragedy. As it 
was, the powerful hand brought Verlie’s horse, panting 
and quivering, but docile enough, to a standstill. He 
had recognized a masterly hand. 

But in that backward plunge Verlie had lost her bal- 
ance, and would have fallen headlong from the saddle if 
he had not loosened his grip from the horse and held 
out his arms just in time to catch her. As it was, she 
sank into them unconscious. 

Involuntarily his arms tightened closely about her, as 
she fell, a dead weight, against his breast, her lovely 


a rival’s bitter jealousy. 


39 


golden hair brushing his cheek, as he bent over her. A 
great, mighty love for her surged through his heart, but 
he made no attempt to caress her. He would take no 
advantage of the situation. Rutledge Chester was a 
gentleman — one of nature’s chivalrous noblemen. 

By this time quite a crowd of pedestrians had 
gath ered around them, and Uldene rode breathlessly up. 
Despite the cause, a fierce, deadly pang of jealousy 
shot through her heart, and her face grew pale as death 
as she saw her golden-haired sister in the arms of the 
man she loved with a wild, unreasoning, passionate 
love. 

Verlie was taken home in a coupe, but it was hours 
before consciousness returned to her. When she opened 
her blue, dazed eyes, and lifted her golden, curly head 
from her pillow, she found herself in her own room. 
Uldene was standing by the lace-draped window, with 
her back toward her, gazing down into the gas-lit street. 
It was evening. 

“ Uldene,” she called out in bewilderment, “ have I 
been ill ?” 

But before her sister could reply she sank on the pil- 
low, with a cry of terror. In a flash memory had 
returned to her. She sprang from the couch and crept 
to Uldene’s side with bated breath, flushed cheeks, and 
shining eyes. 

“ Did he save me, Uldene ?” she whispered. “ Was it 
a dream or reality that he saved me — periled his life for 
mine ?” 

“ Mr. Chester saved you, if that is what you mean,” 
announced Uldene, sharply, shaking off coldly the clasp 
of those clinging arms. “ Any gentleman would have 
acted precisely the same under similar circumstances. 
There is no use in making a hero of him for a simple 


40 


AT THE MASK BALL. 


courteous act. I am sure he would not lixe you to think 
he did anything out of the ordinary.” 

Verlie drew back abashed at the coldness and bitter- 
ness of the other’s tones. 

“ Uldene,” she cried, in sudden fear and apprehension, 
“ are you sorry that I did not die ?” 

The lovely, defiant face into which she gazed so eag- 
erly grew white. Heaven forgive beautiful, faulty, 
treacherous Uldene ; such a thought had darted through 
her bitterly jealous heart ; but she dared to deny it.* 


CHAPTER V. 

AT THE MASK BALL. 

Uldene turned toward the window again with an 
impatient gesture. 

“ You talk like a child, Verlie,” she cried. “ Of course 
I cared whether you lived or died. When you spoke to 
me so suddenly I was thinking of quite another matter 
— whether or no you would be able to attend the mask 
ball at Mrs. Warrington’s to-morrow night. For, of 
course, if you were too ill to go, I w r ould stay at home 
too.” 

“ You shall make no such sacrifice for me, Uldene, 
darling,” exclaimed Verlie, throwing her arms around 
her sister’s neck and affectionately and eagerly kissing 
Uldene’s beautiful false face. “ Of course we shall go 
to the grand mask ball. I wouldn’t miss it for worlds. 
I am not ill, you know. I am not even hurt ; only shook 
up and frightened. I shall be all right by to-morrow.” 


AT THE MASK BALL. 


41 


A tap at the door interrupted their conversation. It 
was Mrs. Chester. 

“ What ! up and around so soon, dear ?” she exclaimed, 
pleasantly. “ Rutledge will be delighted to hear such a 
pleasant account of you.” 

“ I was more frightened than hurt, Mrs. Chester,” 
replied Verlie, with a blush ; adding, falteringly : 
“ You must thank your son for me, for his timely 
assistance ; but for him I should have met a far worse 
fate.” 

“ You must keep your room for a day or two,” returned 
the lady, kindly, “ even though you forego the festivities 
of to-morrow night.” 

“ Indeed, I am not as weak as you imagine, Mrs. 
Chester,” exclaimed Verlie, gayly. “ Why, I wouldn’t 
think of missing the mask ball, not for worlds.” 

“ As you please, my dear,” responded Mrs. Chester, 
smiling. “ Of course, young girls will be young girls. 
I have often known them to plead to get out of a sick- 
bed to attend such gala affairs.” 

“ But you know I am not ill,” persisted Verlie, lifting 
her blue eyes coyly. 

The grand mask ball which was to be given in a 
neighboring mansion had been a much anticipated event 
to both Verlie and Uldene, it being the first of its kind 
which either had been invited to attend. 

The costumes had taken fully a month’s planning ; 
they were marvels in their way. Uldene was to take the 
character of the beautiful, fatal, irresistible Helen of 
Troy, whose smile was more dangerous than a draught 
of poisoned wine, and whose wondrous dark eyes led 
men on to their doom. 

Her dress was to be cloth of gold, draped with crim- 
son tulle, caught up here and there with clusters of 


42 


AT THE MASK BALL. 


blood-red passion roses ; crimson satin slippers were to 
inclose her tiny feet ; glowing crimson rubies were to 
encircle her white throat and her bare, rounded arms. 
Her dark, curling hair was to be completely concealed 
behind a golden vail, and a golden mask to cover her 
dark, lovely face — all save the red lips and dimpled 
chin. 

Verlie was to be a fairy bride. A fierce pang of envy 
shot through Uldene’s heart as she saw her golden- 
haired sister standing, dressed and ready, before the 
long French mirror in their boudoir the next evening. 

It was indeed a beautiful picture the gilded mirror 
reflected — a lovely slender, girlish figure, draped in 
shimmering white satin that fell in graceful folds to her 
slender ankles ; white kid gloves, extending to the elbow, 
set off the pearly pinkness of the lovely rounded arm 
above it, and white kid slippers that Cinderella herself 
might have worn, they were so exquisitely trim and 
dainty, peeped coyly out from beneath the shimmering 
silvery skirts. 

“ All I need is a magnolia blossom to make the cos- 
tume complete,” laughed Verlie. 

“ You can get one in the conservatory,” remarked 
Uldene, indifferently. “ Ring for one of the servants to 
fetch you one.” 

“ I will go myself,” declared Verlie, darting from the 
boudoir, tossing her white silk mask into Uldene’s lap 
as she passed her. But in less than a moment she came 
fluttering back, her cheeks all aglow with excitement. 
“ Oh, Uldene! I had such a narrow escape !” she 
panted. “ I had no sooner reached the corridor when 
the library door was suddenly opened and Rutledge 
Chester came hurriedly out. I slipped behind a marble 
Flora, but I am not positive whether he saw me or not ; 


AT THE MASK BALL. 


43 


but I think not, though. He passed on toward the con- 
servatory ; so I did not go there. Oh, dear ! it would 
spoil half the fun to have any one recognize me before 
the time for unmasking came. Mr. Chester has not 
commenced to arrange his toilet yet. Isn’t it getting 
rather late ?” 

“I suppose so,” returned Uldene. “ The senator is to 
accompany us there, and Rutledge is to bring us home. 
I believe that’s the arrangement, isn’t it ?” 

Verlie nodded. Ah ! there is the coach at the door 
now. Wrapped and hooded, they were soon whirling 
away toward the grand ball. 

“ Well, well,” declared Senator Chester leaning back 
in his seat, with a hearty laugh, “ I should never be able 
to determine which was which. The representative of 
Helen of Troy is irresistible; the dainty, fairy bride 
charming. Many a noble knight will lose his heart ere 
this affair is over,” he declared. 

It was the gayest mask ball in high life that was ever 
given. Mrs. Warrington’s grand parlors, the reception- 
rooms, and the magnificent dancing-hall beyond were 
ablaze with lights from a score or more of electric 
globes, and odorous with the perfume of gorgeous 
banks of tropical plants and roses that made the scene 
appear like a glimpse of fairyland. 

It was a quaint and novel sight that caught and held 
the eye. Gorgeous princesses, in royal velvets and 
gleaming diamonds ; kings and knights, with waving 
plumes ; stately young queens in crowns of brilliants ; 
the trimmest and most coquettish Spanish and Nor- 
mandy maidens, and the prettiest gipsy maidens, smil- 
ing behind their silken masks, that ever were seen, 
were leaning demurely upon the arms of graceful, 


44 


AT THE MASK BALL. 


masked partners, or whirling in the mazes of the 
bewitching, bewildering waltz. 

Verlie had entered the glittering ball-room a few 
paces behind Uldene, and more than one pair of eyes 
turned admiringly from one to the other. 

There was one guest who never took his eyes from 
the fairy bride since Verlie had first made her appear- 
ance. He smiled a little, an amused light in his eyes. 



“ Of course, the darling knows that I saw her and 
recognized her in the corridor,” he said to himself. 
“Yet, rather than meet the admiring gaze of my eyes, 
she darted behind the marble Flora. What a wide 
difference there is between Uldene and sweet, golden- 
haired Verlie ! One seems rather pleased with my 
society ; the other avoids me as though I were an ogre.” 

With hurried steps he crossed the ball-room and 


AT THE MASK BALL. 


45 


gained her side. The next instant the tall, handsome, 
plumed knight was bowing low before her. 

“ The band is about to strike up a waltz,” he said, dis- 
guising his voice, and smiling down upon her from 
behind his mask. “ May I claim it ?” 

Verlie placed her small, white, kidded hand on his 
arm, and the next moment they were whirling away to 
the gay, mad music of “ The Blue-Bells of Scotland.” 

An hour later Uldene sought Verlie out. 

“ How are you enjoying yourself ?” she asked, abruptly. 
“ I see you on the floor most of the time.” 

“ I should enjoy myself very well were it not for that 
tall, plumed knight who follows me about like a verit- 
able shadow,” pouted the lovely red lips behind the 
white silk mask. “ He is at my elbow wherever I turn, 
and persists in claiming every dance. I wonder who he 
is, Uldene ?” 

A bitter laugh, scornful and mocking, was Uldene’s 
only answer. Was Verlie blind that she had not recog- 
nized that tall, manly form ? Uldene asked herself, 
wonderingly. Her keen, brilliant eyes had sought out 
that plumed knight almost the first moment they had 
entered the ball-room. She knew he was Rutledge 
Chester ; and she realized, too, that he must indeed have 
recognized Verlie in the corridor at home, when she 
yiad started out in search of the magnolia blossom. 

“Did he care for her beautiful, golden-haired sister?” 
she asked herself, bitterly. Ah, why, not try a test and 
see ; innocent Verlie would be none the wiser. 

“ It is annoying to be followed about by one persist- 
ent partner all the evening,” declared Uldene. “ Now, 
suppose you and I outwit this presumptuous knight, and 
in a clever way, too ?” 

“ How could we do it ?” asked Verlie, in wonder. 


46 


AT THE MASK BALL, 


“ By going to a private boudoir and exchanging cos- 
tumes.” 

Verlie readily consented, and both left the ball-room 
together, re-appearing some twenty minutes later, Verlie 
in the costume of Helen of Troy, and Uldene as the 
fairy bride. 

Both being slender and of the same height, no differ- 
ence was discernible to the eager plumed knight, who 
came hurriedly forward begging the lovely fairy bride 
to favor him with just one more waltz, and away they 
floated together, keeping time to the dreamy dance 
measure. 

They had reached the entrance to the conservatory, 
and there Rutledge Chester (for the plumed knight was 
he) stopped with his fair partner at the entrance. 

“ Come with me and I will find you a flower far 
more suitable to the character you represent than the 
magnolia you are wearing.” 

With a throbbing heart, Uldene permitted him to lead 
her into the cool, green rose bower, dim with shadowy 
lights from the emerald swinging globes, and odorous 
with the breath of exotics. He found her a seat beneath 
a blossoming almond tree, close by the tinted, perfumed 
fountain. 

Close by her an orange tree was in full bloom. Rut- 
ledge Chester detached a single blossom and handed it 
to her. 

“ This is the flower I would choose for you,” he said, 
his deep voice husky with emotion. “ Happy would be 
the man in whose honor you would wear a crown of 
them.” 

“Verlie,” he cried, “forgive me. I know you; I 
recognized you in the corridor at home to-night. I 
know this is not the time or place to speak, but the 


AT THE MASK BALL. 


47 


words burn from my heart to my lips. I love you, little 
Verlie — love you with all my heart. I am not gifted like 
some men to utter eloquent words at such a moment ; 
my heart is too full for utterance. Could you ever love 
me, little Verlie — love me well enough to become my 
bride ? 

“ I realize that I have been abrupt ; I have startled 
you. I do not ask for your answer now ; you shall have 
time to consider it. I ask but one favor, dear; be kind 
and grant it. You see I have gathered two flowers — a 
pure white rose and a deep blood-red one. 

“ If you mean to give me encouragement, wear this 
white rose on your breast at the time of unmasking. If 
you mean to discourage my intentions — to convey to me 
in silence that we can never be more to each other than 
we are — let the red rose be the sorry signal of it. Will 
you consent to this, Verlie darling ?” 

The trembling figure bowed her head in assent. 

“ I am bewildered ; leave me here to myself for a 
little while — to think,” she murmured. 

Rutledge Chester looked at her in wonder. The 
voice that spoke to him seemed like nothing human. 

He bowed low over the little hand in which he had 
placed the roses — turned and walked swiftly away. 

Slowly Uldene rose to her feet — she stood perfectly 
still ; the same shock would have killed some girls. 
She clenched her hands so tightly that the thorns from 
the roses she held pierced her soft hands, but she never 
felt the pain. Heaven and earth seemed whirling 
around her. Death would have been a relief to the 
terrible agony of that moment ; but the rest and silence 
of death were not for her. She stood so for what 
seemed to her an eternity ; it was but a few moments. 
Then the reaction came. With swift feet she hurried to 


48 


AT THE MASK BALL. 


the further end of the vast conservatory and flung her- 
self, face downward, among the gorgeous blooms. 

It was a pitiful sight upon which the moon-light, 
slanting in from the windows, fell — a prostrate figure 
in a white, gleaming dress and bridal vail, and a white 
face, drenched with tears, upturned to the pale, silvery 
light. 

No human beings were near, or they might have 
been startled by the passionate cries of a broken heart, 
cries that fell freely and clearly on the soft, sweet air — 
bitter, passionate sobs, that took with them the burden 
of an unhappy soul. 

It had been her one prayer, her one ambition, to win 
Rutledge Chester’s love. That love would have 
crowned her life, and now it was all over ; her wondrous 
beauty, her genius, her brilliancy, had all been power- 
less to win the noble heart that had been laid at timid, 
golden-haired Verlie’s feet. 

Tears of mortification rained down her cheeks. It 
was not only that the hope and treasure of her life were 
wrecked, but she was humiliated. She had loved in 
vain, and her haughty, passionate nature writhed at the 
thought. 

Without an effort, Verlie had won the prize for which 
she would freely have given her life. 

“It shall not be!” she cried, wildly. “I cannot 
bear it ! I could sooner die !” 

It was well that the swell of music and the patter of 
dancing feet drowned her bitter cries. 

Uldene lay sobbing on the ground where she had 
flung herself in the frenzy of her grief. 

Slowly the moments dragged their slow lengths by. 
What strange thought had come to her in the green, 
leafy solitude? What strange, bewildering idea? For 


a rival’s treachery. 


49 


suddenly she raised her white hands, and sprang to her 
feet with a shudder and an awful cry. 

“ Not that!” she murmured, hoarsely. “I am not 
wicked enough for that, though maddened by the 
crudest pangs of jealousy. Aye, pangs more bitter 
than death to endure calmly.” 

But after a time she grew silent. The passionate 
cries, the bitter sobs had died away. The idea had 
taken possession of her. 

Like a ghost she glided silently back to the ball-room, 
and sought out Verlie. 

“ Let us change back into our own costumes again,” 
she said. “You must be dressed in your own white 
dress as the fairy bride when the hour for unmasking 
comes. It is better suited to you. Do not demur, 
Verlie. I — I — insist” 


CHAPTER VI. 
a rival’s treachery. 

Verlie looked up into Uldene’s eyes, that glowed like 
burning coals behind her mask, with a slightly puzzled 
expression. 

“ Of course, it shall be as you say,” she replied ; “ but 
it is so near midnight it will scarcely be worth while. 
Why, how white you are, Uldene !” she cried, when 
they found themselves alone, and her sister had thrown 
off her mask. “ Why, you look as though you had seen 
a ghost.” 

Uldene made no reply. 


5Q 


A RIVAL'S TREACHERY. 


They both stood dressed at last. Verlie was just 
about moving toward the door, when Uldene suddenly 
caught her hand. 

“ There is something wanting in your appearance,” 
she said. “ You lack color. You must wear this red 
rose in your corsage.” 

“ No, no,” laughed Verlie. “ I will not wear it. I 
detest blood-red roses ; pure white ones are best suited 
to me. I will wear that other one you brought up in 
your hand — the white rose.” 

“ Will you wear the red one, to please me ?” whispered 
Uldene, hoarsely. “ Remember, it will please me more 
than I can tell you. Oh, Verlie, you must, you must 
wear it.” 

“ Seeing you have set your heart upon it I suppose I 
shall have to,” pouted Verlie. 

With trembling hands, Uldene fastened the blood-red 
rose in her sister's bodice ; but even as she did so, the 
drooping petals seemed almost to scorch the white, guilty 
hands. 

Together Verlie and Uldene descended to the ball- 
room. 

The great clock in the hallway chimed the midnight 
hour as they passed down the grand stairway ; a silver 
bell rang shrilly, and the band struck a lively air. That 
was the signal for general unmasking. The hour that 
had passed since Rutledge Chester had left the conserv- 
atory and the lovely, drooping figure seated by the foun- 
tain was indeed a long one to him. 

He had mingled with the gorgeous, grotesque throng, 
but he hardly saw the people around him. The strains 
of soul-enlivening music fell upon deaf ears. 

He looked eagerly around at length, but he saw no 


a rival’s treachery. 


51 


signs of the fairy bride. Was Verlie still by the foun- 
tain, taking no heed of time ? he asked himself. 

He heard the clock chime, the silver bell tap, and the 
music strike up. There was rippling laughter and 
amusing exclamations. The moment for unmasking had 
come. But where was Verlie ? 

One moment of suspense ; then he saw Uldene, and 
behind her he caught a gleam of a white satin dress and 
floating vail. 

His face flushed with delight ; his pulse thrilled ; his 
heart beat. With hurried steps he crossed over to where 
she stood. Another instant, and, mask in hand, he stood 
before her. 

Verlie raised her eyes, a little cry escaped her lips, and 
a great, burning flush swept over her lovely face, as she 
recognized in the unmasked plumed knight who had 
followed her about so persistently — Rutledge Chester. 

In that first fatal glance Rutledge had seen the fatal 
red rose in her bodice — the rose which was to be the 
silent signal for his dismissal. 

His face grew white as death. His strong hands 
trembled. Ah l he had been so sure that deep down in 
her coy little heart Verlie cared for him ! But it had 
been a delusion — the maddest kind of a fancy — he told 
himself. 

It was a moment of intense suspense to the trembling, 
guilty girl who watched them, scarcely breathing in hor- 
rible fear lest her treachery would be exposed then and 
there. 

But no ! Fate, cruel fate, aided her. 

Rutledge Chester offered one arm to her, the other to 
Verlie ; but she caught the startling words as he bent 
over that golden head : 

“ Alas ! I am answered.” 


52 > 


A RIVALS TREACHERY, 


To Verlie the words seemed meaningless enough. She 
never gave them a second thought. She looked up into 
his white, haggard face with a blush and a smile, remark- 
ing sweetly that this had been one of the happiest even- 
ings of her life. 

Rutledge Chester turned and looked at her sharply. 

“ Great heavens ! had she no heart ?” he asked himself, 
in bitter wonder. There was no vailed sarcasm in her 
voice. It sounded sweet and girlishly innocent. There 
was but one construction to put upon her words. His 
unhappiness had not troubled her. 

All Rutledge Chester’s manly spirit rose to his aid at 
once. He bowed his dark, handsome head stiffly. His 
set, white face did not reveal the keen pain at his 
heart. 

The ball was a farce after that. He was heartily glad 
when it was all over. 

The ride home was not as pleasant as it might have 
been. Rutledge Chester had taken a seat beside Uldene. 
He was courteous and polite to Verlie — nothing more. 

“What strange change is this which has come over 
Mr. Chester?” poor, innocent Verlie vaguely wondered. 
“ Could it be that I have been so unfortunate as to offend 
him in any way? I cannot call to mind the slightest 
occasion for it. 

They parted in the corridor, Mr. Chester going to the 
library, the young ladies going up to the boudoir they 
occupied jointly. 

“What do you think is the matter with Mr. Chester? 
He seemed so cold and strange coming home,” said Ver- 
lie, thoughtfully, as she proceeded to throw off her fur- 
lined wraps. 

“ Don’t talk to me to-night,” cried Uldene. “ I am 
tired, and I — I want to rest.” 


A rival's treachery. 


53 


Verlie gazed at her in amazement. Was it only her 
fancy, or did gay, brilliant Uldene seem out of sorts, 
too? She had quite expected Uldene’s busy tongue 
would clatter until broad daylight about the wonderful 
mask ball. 

Long after Verlie’s golden head sank on the pillow, 
and her quiet breathing denoted that she slept, Uldene 
stood motionless before the satin-draped window, star- 
ing out upon the snow-shrouded earth, and out into the 
inky blackness of the night. 

“ I do not see my way out of it,” she muttered, pant- 
ingly. “ Sooner or later I shall be found out. I am too 
dazed and bewildered to think.” 

The sun was shining brightly into the room the next 
morning when Verlie opened her blue eyes. 

-Uldene was already up. For the first time since they 
had been guests at Senator Chester’s home they missed 
meeting the son at the breakfast table ; nor was he at 
luncheon. 

All that day Rutledge Chester paced the library, lost 
in bitter thought. To meet Verlie after this, live under 
the same roof with her, meet her daily, would be an im- 
possibility for him, he told himself. It would be better 
to go away, it mattered little where. 

Suddenly, like a flash, a wopderful idea occurred to 
him. Pshaw ! how foolish he had been ! He remem- 
bered now that he had heard that young girls liked to 
be coaxed, and that a persistent wooer often changes 
their “ No ” to “ Yes ” — the demure, coy darlings ! 

“ How stupid I have been !” cried Rutledge Chester, 
his handsome, gloomy face brightening up, a pleased 
smile curving his mustached lips. “ I should have been 
mad to have gone away without another effort to win 
sweet little Verlie.” 


54 : 


A rival’s treachery. 


Sitting down before his writing desk, he hurriedly 
penned these few words : 

“Dear Little Verlie — Miss Sefton : I cannot teach my 
heart that you meant to wilfully and deliberately discard me. 
Consent to be my bride, or by this time to-morrow afternoon I 
shall be speeding away as fast as steam can take me to Europe. 
It is impossible to remain near you and be nothing to you. Let 
my deep love plead forme, little Verlie. If you send me away it 
will be sending me into the dark, deep abyss of the bitterest de- 
spair. Grant me but one moment in the conservatory at eight to- 
night. I must see you, Verlie. Yours devotedly, forever, 

“Rutledge Chester.” 

Ringing for a servant, ne nastily dispatched the mis- 
sive to Verlie’s room. Both girls were together when 
the maid tapped at the door, and handed Verlie the 
note. 

Uldene sprang to her feet, white with terror. A note 
for Verlie ! What if it should be from Rutledge 
Chester ! 

'An instant later Verlie confirmed her horrible sus- 
picion. 

“ Oh, Uldene, it is from Mr. Chester!” she cried in 
dismay, her face turning from red to white as she 
glanced over it, “ and — oh, Uldene, do look at it and see 
what he says ! Am I mad or do I dream, Uldene ? 
Look at this and tell me is Mr. Chester — asking me to 
— to marry him ? How odd and brusque the note is.” 

The whiteness of death overspread Uldene’s dark, 
brilliant face, and a horrible darkness enfolded her. 
The sword had fallen — her doom had overtaken her. 

Like a flash she tore it from Verlie’s hands ; the 
words seemed stamped in fire upon the white page, and 
every line to burn deep down into her heart as she read, 


a rival’s treachery. 


55 


“ Will you go down to the conservatory as he wishes ? 
Answer me — will you go ?” 

“Yes,” said Verlie, thoughtfully, but in evident em- 
barrassment. 

“ Do you love him ? Do you wish to marry him ?” 
panted Uldene. 

“ I — I should not mind, sister,” replied Verlie, faintly, 
“ if — papa and mamma — will consent. Of course, he 
must ask them f* and the sweet blue eyes drooped shyly 
under her sister’s steady gaze. 

“ Let us come out on the street ; we will talk it over 
there. I must get air ; the heat of this house is sti- 
fling.” 

Only too pleased to humor any caprice of her beauti- 
ful, wilful sister, Verlie threw on her wraps at once and 
accompanied Uldene out on the crowded thoroughfare. 

Taking a car, they rode to the end of the route ; then 
they left it, walking together along one of the isolated 
paths that led out of the city limits ; turning an abrupt 
curve in the path and passing through an open gate, 
they found themselves in a church-yard. 

The church itself had long since fallen into disuse. 
Its walls had crumbled and fallen in, and where the snow 
lay thick now ivy grew in the summer time, and birds 
came there to build their nests in the branches of the 
willows that drooped over old-time graves. 

“Let us turn back, Uldene,” said Verlie, in a fright. 
“ I have such a terror of grave-yards and monuments ! 
It is almost dusk.” 

“ I am tired,” said Uldene. “ Let us sit down and rest 
a moment. You need not be afraid but what you will 
be back before eight,” she added, with a bitter sneer. 

Verlie looked at her with startled eyes. 

“ Uldene,” she said, perplexedly, “ I cannot under- 


56 


a rival’s treachery. 


stand whether you are pleased that Mr. Chester has 
asked me to be his bride or not. Tell me — are you, 
dear ?” 

“Why should I care if your baby face and baby ways 
have won Senator Chester’s heir or not ?” 

All the pride and fire of her nature seemed to flash in 
her face. Her eyes rained scorn ; her lips curled in 
direst contempt. 

“ Uldene, do you care for Rutledge Chester ?” Verlie’s 
sweet young voice rang out piteously. “ Oh, my sis- 
ter ! has fate been so cruel to us that we were both 
destined to love the same man ?” 

In her great excitement Verlie had sprung to her feet 
and had taken a step backward. 

Oh ! fatal step ! Her foot had caught in the tangled 
brambles that had grown over. a fallen tombstone, and 
she was precipitated headlong upon the cold marble. 

The sudden wrench had sprained Verlie’s ankle. In 
an instant Uldene was kneeling beside her. One glance 
at the face upturned to the gathering dusk, and she saw 
that Verlie had fainted. 

Her first impulse was to cry aloud for help ; but, on 
second thought, she knew it would be useless. Her 
voice could never penetrate beyond the walls of that 
lonely, isolated grave-yard. No help or assistance could 
reach Verlie in that silent “ city of the dead ” unless she 
herself summoned it. 

Suddenly a dark, horrible thought came to Uldene — 
a thought so wicked that she shrank from it at first in 
horror too great for words. 

A moment she pondered on the terrible idea — and 
that was the darkest moment of Uldene’s life — a moment 
in which a temptation, the crudest that could ever 
drift across mortal brain, came to her. Verlie, the 


a rival’s treachery. 


57 


golden-haired girl whom Rutledge Chester loved, lay 
wounded, crippled, helpless, and unconscious at her feet. 
Should she summon help and save her, or turn and 
walk swiftly away, leaving her helpless rival alone and 
to her fate ? 

She raised her white face to the starlit sky and to the 
fair moon rising behind the dark, waving trees. 

Never did good and evil fight for a human heart as 
they struggled then and there for the heart of beauti- 
ful, guilty Uldene. 

If she saved her, it would be giving her to love and 
happiness with Rutledge Chester, she cried out to the 
night winds ; and all the fire, the passion, and reckless- 
ness in her nature rose up bitterly against that. 

“ Oh, if she were only to die !” she cried out, 
hoarsely. 

All she would have to do would be to turn and hurry 
away, and her sinful wish would be realized. 

“ Save her !” commanded God and the watching 
angels in the blue sky. 

“ Leave her to her fate !” cried the tempter. 

One awful moment more — then. Heaven forgive her ! 
Uldene turned and fled, without daring to look back, 
lest her resolution should forsake her, at that beautiful, 
pallid, upturned face. Yes, she fled, leaving Verlie to 
her piteous fate. 

Over the white-crusted snow Uldene sped with winged 
feet, never stopping until she had gained her own bou- 
doir. As she drew the curtains, shutting out the black- 
ness of night outside, she saw the snow had commenced 
to fall. With a startled cry she shrank back. She knew 
it was falling on those polished marble shafts, on the 
dark trees, and on the white, upturned face lying among 
the old graves in the church-yard. 


58 


A rival's treachery. 


All through the long, horrible night she paced the floor 
of her boudoir. How could she sleep with the picture 
of that upturned face in the grave-yard, upon which the 
snow was falling, burning into her brain ? 

She must shut it out from her mind or she would go 
mad — yes, mad. 

How the winds shrieked and moaned as the snow 
descended. 

Oh, that long, horrible night ! Would day-light never 
dawn ? And when the gray morning broke would Ver- 
lie be found with the snow wrapped around her like 
a shroud ? 

At length, weak and exhausted, she sank to sleep — for 
even the guilty can sleep, yes, even through the appal- 
ling dreams that confront them. 

It was morning when she opened her eyes. A voice 
awoke her, and she sprang from her couch and listened 
with dilated eyes. 

“ Bless me,” the old senator was saying in the corridor 
outside, “ this is the worst snow storm I have seen for 
years. In some places the drifts are quite three feet 
deep, and the snow still falling.” 

Uldene crept to the window and looked out. The snow 
seemed to bury the whole world in horrible, ghastly 
whiteness, and she knew it must have long since 
covered that white, upturned face, lying among the 
graves. 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


59 


CHAPTER VII. 

A FATAL MISTAKE. 

The long, terrible night wore away at last — night with 
its dark shadows and wailing winds. 

Uldene crept to the window again, and looked shud- 
deringly out, her heart beating with horrible fear. 

Yes, the snow was deep on the pavement and in the 
road. It had drifted high against the marble steps of 
the houses that lined the avenue, and she knew it must 
have drifted in a great white heap over the upturned 
face and the rigid form lying among the tomb-stones in 
the old grave-yard. 

As Uldene passed the mirror, she was startled at the 
white, wild face that looked out into her own. What 
should she do to drive away the startled fear, the vague 
dread, the deadly pallor ? 

Oh, if the wind outside would but stop moaning — if 
the skeleton branches of the snow-laden trees would 
cease rustling ! Every rustling sound seemed to bear 
this message from the lonely grave-yard over the hills — 
“You lured me away from home — to die.” 

Would those horrible words never cease ringing in her 
ears ? 

“ Let me forget that white, upturned face or I shall 
go mad !” she cried out to herself. 

There was no more time for thought. The breakfast bell 
sounded for the last time. Turning from the mirror, 
she walked with unsteady steps down to the breakfast- 
room, 


60 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


The senator had already breakfasted and gone. Mrs. 
Chester and her son still lingered over their coffee. 
Both looked up as the door opened. 

“ Good-morning, my dear,” said Mrs. Chester, smiling. 
“ I really believed you and your sister intended to sleep 
all day.” 

A terrible whiteness overspread Uldene’s guilty face. 

u Has Verlie not been to breakfast?” she asked, in 
feigned surprise. “She is not in our room. I — I have 
not seen her since last night. I retired first, and dropped 
into a dreamless slumber the moment my head touched 
the pillow. I must confess that I feared, when I awoke, 
that Verlie must have fallen asleep in an arm-chair, and 
remained there all night, for her pillow was undisturbed.” 

Both mother and son looked up anxiously. 

“ I shall have to scold your sister a little for such irreg- 
ular habits,” she said, touching a small silver hand-bell 
at her elbow. 

In response to the summons, a pretty young maid came 
to the door of the breakfast-room. 

“You will go to Miss Verlie’s room and tell her we 
are awaiting her at the breakfast-table,” said Mrs. Ches- 
ter. “ If you do not find her there, go to the drawing- 
room, through the conservatory ; in fact, through the 
house, until you do find her.” 

Nanon flew hurriedly away on her mission, but soon 
returned with the intelligence : 

“ Miss Verlie was not to be found in the house. I took 
the precaution to look into the wardrobe,” continued 
Nanon, “and then I discovered her hat and cloak were 
missing. She must have gone out on the street.” 

“ That is strange ! Out on the street on such a morn- 
ing as this !” remarked Mrs. Chester. 

Uldene made no comment; she could not have uttered 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


61 


a word if her life had depended on it. She had with 
her a companion she was never to lose again — a haunt- 
ing fear — a guilty terror that would never more leave 
her. Uldene had not taken her usual place at the break- 
fast-table ; she took a seat at the table with her face 
turned from the sunshine — she could not endure the 
light of the white snow outside. 

At every unusual stir — every peal of the bell — every 
quick footstep — her heart seemed to die within her. 
She would fancy it was Verlie coming in to confront 
her, crying out how fair, false, treacherous Uldene had 
left her alone to die. And if Verlie should thus come, 
Mrs. Chester would turn from her (Uldene) in horror 
too great for words, and Rutledge — ah, the deep, blaz- 
ing scorn and bitter anger in his eyes — the eyes of the 
man for whose sake she had sinned so fatally — would 
strike her dead. 

He would despise her, and when that moment came 
she would die, she told herself. 

When noon arrived, and Verlie had not yet returned, 
Mrs. Chester commenced to grow anxious about her 
whereabouts, and when the afternoon deepened into the 
dusk of the early winter afternoon her anxiety grew 
into terror. 

The senator had gone out of town early that morning, 
and Rutledge had lunched at the club parlors, and it 
would be rather uncertain, he told his mother, whether 
he would be home in time to dine with the family or 
not. 

Mrs. Chester could stand the suspense no longer and 
sent a messenger for her son at once. “ I want to see 
you in reference to Verlie,” so ran his mother’s brief 
note. “ Come without delay.” 

The young man’s handsome, grave face flushed and 


62 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


paled as he thrust the delicate, pink-tinted affair into his 
breast pocket. 

“ Of course there could be but one meaning to it,” he 
told himself, as he seated himself in his sleigh, tucked 
the buffalo robe around him, picked up the lines and 
gave the mettlesome gray horse a slight cut with his 
whip that sent him fairly spinning down the snow- 
crusted road homeward. 

Of course Verlie had recalled him. She had repented 
not having kept the appointment in the conservatory, 
and had confessed the story of her son’s love to his 
mother, and that tender-hearted little woman had taken 
it upon herself to become mediator between them, 
recalling her son without delay ; for he had announced 
at the breakfast-table that morning his intention of 
going abroad for a few months, declaring he should 
start immediately. 

It was with a very light heart he drew rein before his 
home. He glanced up at the windows ; no dimpled, 
bashful, girlish face, framed in golden hair, peeped 
coyly down at him from the lace-draped windows. 
Flinging the reins to the groom, he sprang up the mar- 
ble steps three steps at a time. 

A servant answered the imperative summons. As he 
stepped into the marble corridor the drawing-room 
door opened and he saw his mother, white as a ghost 
and deeply agitated, standing on the threshold. 

“ Come in here, my son,” she exclaimed, drawing him 
into the room ; and while he was removing his gloves 
she had told him of Verlie’s protracted absence, and of 
the grave fears she entertained of her being lost. Bos- 
ton was not the best city in the world for a stranger to 
find their way in. 

Rutledge Chester’s face grew whiter and whiter as he 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


63 


listened. Like a flash a solution of Verlie’s mysterious 
absence came to him. 

He sprang from his chair and began pacing up and 
down the floor with such rapid strides, his face working 
convulsively, that his mother grew alarmed. 

“ Rutledge, my son !” she cried out, in dismay. 

But he held up his hand with a gesture of silence. 

“Hush, mother !” he cried, bitterly. “I cannot bear 
it.” 

“ Verlie is not lost,” he went on, huskily. “ When 
she left the house this morning, she left it for good, 
with the intention of never entering these doors again.” 

“ Rutledge !” exclaimed his mother, in wonder and 
dismay. “ What can you mean by such a remark?” 

“Hear me out, mother,” he went on, huskily, as he 
threw himself down in a chair and covered his face 
with his hands, “and the cause will explain itself as I 
proceed.” 

In a straightforward, manly way he told her of his 
love for beautiful little golden-haired Verlie, and how 
the knowledge had first come to him, when he saved her 
from death that memorable day in the park. 

He told her, too, how he had detected Verlie’s cos- . 
tume on the night of the mask ball, and in the course 
of the evening, in the dim conservatory, had laid his 
heart and hand at her feet, begging her, if she favored 
his suit, to wear a white rose in her bodice after 
unmasking, and if it was her wish to reject and dismiss 
him, a red rose so worn should be the signal of it. 

“ Verlie wore the red rose at the appointed hour,” he 
continued, huskily, “and I knew then my suit was in 
vain. She did not love me. 

“ I could not rest without making another attempt to 
win her,” he went on, desperately. “ So I wrote her a 


64 : 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


note yesterday afternoon, begging her to meet me in 
the conservatory at eight that evening, to give me one 
more chance to plead my cause. I was there promptly 
at eight. She was not there. I waited an hour. Still 
she came not. She wished me to understand by her 
silence that her answer was final. Don’t you see how it 
is, mother? Rather than pain me by another refusal, 
she has gone quietly away. She knew quite well I 
would tell you why.” 

Mrs. Chester’s distress as she listened knew no 
bounds. This revelation gave her such unbounded sur- 
prise. For once she was completely startled out of her 
lady-like calm. 

“ Forget her, Rutledge, my dear son,” she cried, 
throwing her arms around his neck and drawing his 
handsome, manly face down to her own. “ Forget her, 
my boy. This lowly-born girl was no mate for the heir 
of the Chesters at best. She would never have bpen 
suited to you, anyhow. It is all for the best.” 

He started back, as though those white jeweled, wrin- 
kled hands had struck him a sudden blow. 

“ Do not speak hard of her, mother,” he cried, huskily. 
“ Remember, I love her better than life itself, and a cut- 
ting word spoken of her strikes through my heart like 
the thrust of a dagger. She is fitted to wed a king on 
his throne. If she could not love me, it was not her 
fault, poor child !” 

“ No,” admitted his mother, drawing a hard breath. 

Yet she was puzzled to know how any young girl in 
her senses could help loving her tall, handsome, 
haughty, manly son. 

“ I have an idea that she has gone directly home,” he 
went on but to make assurance doubly sure, I shall 
make inquiries at once.” 





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A DUEL AND AN ABDUCTION. 


67 


Oh, fatal mistake, that was the turning point of three 
lives. 

At the wharf he was told a young girl had boarded 
the outgoing steamer that morning, with a ticket direct 
for Pensacola, Florida. 

“ Of course it was Verlie,” he thought, turning away. 
“ I knew she must have gone straight home.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A DUEL AND AN ABDUCTION. 

Uldene feigned the greatest astonishment when Mrs. 
Chester broke this startling news to her, accounting for 
her sister’s sudden disappearance, and that Rutledge 
had traced her to the wharf where she had taken pas- 
sage on an outgoing steamer for home. 

“ I am not surprised that this is a great revelation to 
you,” Mrs. Chester went on, looking pityingly into the 
girl’s death-white face. “ It will no doubt be quite as 
much of a surprise for your father and mother. Rut- 
ledge is in the library now, writing them a full explana- 
tion of the affair. It will probably reach there on the 
same day Verlie arrives home.” 

Uldene could have cried out in terror as she heard 
those words ; and the thought flashed upon her that she 
must prevent that letter from reaching its destination at 
any cost. No one yet ever took the first fatal step in 
deception and sin without being dragged still further 
down the slippery, steep path, and at last plunged 
headlong into the dark abyss yawning to receive her. 


68 


A DUEL AND AN ABDUCTION. 


It was so with Uldene. She had taken the first fatal 
step in a horrible deception and she told herself it was 
too late to turn back now. 

“ I should like to add a short postscript to Rutledge’s 
letter,” she said, in a voice that sounded like nothing 
human, “ and, if he does not mind, I — I will mail it.” 

“Certainly,” assented Mrs. Chester. “Do so by all 
means. It will greatly allay your father’s anxiety if you 
also inclose a few lines.” 

A few moments later a servant appeared with Rut- 
ledge’s letter, enveloped and directed, but unsealed. 

Early the next morning Uldene left the house for the 
ostensible purpose of mailing the letter. When quite 
out of sight of the Chester mansion she turned in an 
opposite direction from the post-office, hurrying quickly 
along through the crowded thoroughfare until she found 
herself on the wharf. 

She glanced furtively about her. No one was observ- 
ing her ; and drawing the letter from her pocket, she 
tore it into minute pieces, telling herself that, in case of 
war, a general would open and destroy the dispatches 
of the enemy if he could. It was the only course left to 
her in this case. 

With a quick movement Uldene threw the fragments 
of the letter into the river. To her horror they would 
not sink. The waves drifted the white flakes together 
toward the sea, and out of her sight. She was in a 
paroxysm of terror. What if they should sail on and on, 
swept on by the hand of an avenging fate, until they 
reached the solitary island ? What if the waves dashed 
them high on the sands of Black-Tor Light-House, and 
they should fall into the hands of Mark Sefton ? 

“The waves will not betray me,” she cried, under 


A DUEL AND AN ABDUCTION. 


69 


her breath. “ They have had other fatal secrets to 
keep.” 

Turning away with a shudder, she quickly retraced 
her steps homeward. 

“ I have separated Verlie and Rutledge Chester,” that 
was the thought that deadened her conscience, “ and in 
the time to come his heart will turn to me. It must . 
Love will win love. I should have gone mad or died if 
Verlie had won him. I love him so.” 

Two days later, looking over the evening paper, 
Uldene’s eyes fell upon the following item : 

“ Found Dead in the Street. — A young, fair-haired woman 
was found, quite dead, buried under the snow-drifts, early last 
T uesday morning. The body was removed to the morgue, and as it 
remained unclaimed, unrecognized, up to yesterday, it was interred 
by the proper authorities.” 

The paper fell from Uldene’s grasp, and the world 
seemed to grow dark around her. She never doubted 
but what it was Verlie — the fair-haired sister whom she 
had lured so inhumanly to an untimely end. 

Even in this hour no keen repentance touched her 
heart, which was harder than adamant and colder than 
marble, as she pictured what poor Verlie’s waking 
moments must have been, or the pain and torture she 
must have suffered when she found herself deserted, 
alone, helpless, in the dark grave-yard, with the snow 
falling around her. 

How she must have stretched out her white arms to 
the dark sky, praying for the help that did not come! 
At first she must have hoped Uldene had gone for assis- 
tance ; but as the hours rolled on the hope died out, and 
she realized that she had been deserted in her crippled 
helplessness and left alone to die. 


70 


A DUEL AND AN ABDUCTION. 


Uldene had swept her rival from her path at a bitter 
cost. Let her triumph in the knowledge until an 
avenging God metes out retribution for her crime ; 
for retribution follows every sin committed, sooner or 
later. 

Let us go back, dear reader, to the waking moments 
of Verlie Sefton. We shall see, as we proceed, that it 
was Verlie who had been found dead in the streets. 
Fate had spared her, and for a far different end. And 
at the moment Rutledge Chester was writing that letter 
— which never found its way to the lonely light-house — 
Verlie was going through the strangest and most start- 
ling experiences that ever fell to the lot of a young girl. 
The swoon into which she had fallen — caused by the 
intense pain of her sprained ankle — lasted an hour or 
more. The cool flakes of falling snow drifting down 
upon her upturned face speedily revived her. 

“ Uldene !” she cried, faintly, “ where am I — I — ” 

Like a flash, memory returned to her, and she remem- 
bered. Her first thought, as she lifted herself upon her 
elbow and saw that she was alone, was that Uldene had 
gone to summon help ; but as the hours dragged slowly 
on and no help came to her, terror seized her. 

“ Had harm befallen her beautiful sister?” was her 
agonized thought. “Ah ! what could detain Uldene?” 

The thought had no sooner crossed her brain, than 
suddenly a horrible sound fell upon her ears — the sud- 
den, almost simultaneous report of two pistol shots that 
rang out sharply on the night air. 

The cry of terror froze on the girl’s lips. The sound 
of voices reached her from the thick grove back of the 
ruins of the old church, scarcely ten rods distant, and 
without reflection, and almost heedless of the excruciat- 
ing pain of her sprained ankle, Verlie crept toward the 


A DUEL AND AN ABDUCTION. 


71 


thick group of trees that overlooked the point from 
whence the sound had issued. 

And there amidst the snowdrifts, the horrible, weird 
scene, illuminated by the broad glare of two bull’s eye 
lanterns, the girl beheld a sight that burned itself indeli- 
bly upon her memory while life lasted. 

A group of five men stood beneath the trees. One 
leaned against a broken tombstone ; two were convers- 
ing eagerly in undertones ; and two faced each other 
fifteen paces apart, with pistols in their hands. Ere the 
terrified girl could fully comprehend the scene, the con- 
ference ended, the seconds resumed their places, and a 
voice cried out : 

“ Are you ready for the second shot ?” 

The two combatants nodded assent. 

Then, like the shock of doom, the horrible command 
fell on the stillness of the midnight air : 

“ One, two, three ! Ready ! Fire !” 

The flash and ringing report from the two smoking pis- 
tols mingled with the command, and one of the principals 
threw up his arms and fell without a moan — without a 
cry — face downward on the snow that was already crim- 
soned with his life blood that had spurted from the 
death-wound in his breast. 

“ Dead !” cried both seconds — “ shot through the 
heart !” 

“ Well, he would have it,” responded the principal, 
coolly and cynically, as he turned on his heel. He had 
scarcely proceeded a dozen paces ere he started back 
with a low cry : “ A woman — a spy — by all that’s won- 

derful !” he cried, aghast. 

Directly in the path before him, her face white as 
death and frozen with horror, stood a young girl, clutch- 
ing for support against a tree, 


72 


A DUEL AND AN ABDUCTION. 


In great surprise he advanced a step or two, and asked, 
gruffly : 

“ Who are you, girl? What business have you here ?” 

He clutched her arm firmly with his strong right 
hand, but Verlie Sefton shook her arm free as though a 
serpent had stung her. 

“Murderer!” she gasped, recoiling from him. “Oh, 
how dared you take a human life ? Do you think God 
will forgive you on the gallows for the crime I wit- 
nessed ?” 

He was a man probably twenty-eight years of age, 
singularly handsome, with the dark beauty of a Greek 
god — a handsome face, but hardened in iniquity. 

He sprang forward again, and clutched her arm so 
firmly in his grasp that she could not wrench it from 
him. 

“So you witnessed the duel, did you ?” he repeated, 
grimly. “ That is bad for you — for you shall not go free 
until you have registered a solemn oath never to reveal 
what you have seen and heard here to-night.” 

The girl’s dauntless blue eyes never quailed beneath 
the gaze of the dark ones bent upon her so steadily. 

“And you shall tell, too, what brought you here, 

girl.” 

“ I shall appeal to the gentlemen present to protect 
me from you,” said Verlie, raising her eyes to his com- 
panions. 

In that moment of time, while her attention was 
attracted elsewhere, they had made away with the body 
of the fallen duelist ; and the girl noticed, with a thrill 
of horror, that they had drawn black masks over their faces , 
and were debating together in angry whispers. 

A scornful, sneering smile cut in upon her words, and 
her captor answered, with a scornful laugh : 

f - 


A DUEL AND AN ABDUCTION. 


73 


“ These gentlemen will not interfere ; my word is law 
to them. If you knew what they were discussing now, 
you would tremble. It is a question of your life — or 
death . You have heard and seen too much. But I say 
that you shall depart, providing that you will take the 
oath required of you — and break it at your peril." 

“I would never promise what you ask !” cried Verlie, 
defiantly. “ On the contrary, I shall take pains to bring 
you to justice — and at the earliest opportunity, too.” 

“ Are you mad, to brave me thus, girl ?” he cried, 
frowning darkly. “You are in my power, remember.” 

“ I am not /” she retorted, bravely ; “ as you shall soon 
see. Already friends are coming to my rescue. I fell 
here scarcely an hour ago while walking with my sister, 
and sprained my ankle. She has flown away for assist- 
ance. They will soon return.” 

“Forewarned is forearmed,” returned the man, 
abruptly. “ In such a case it is useless to stand here 
parleying with you. I shall take you to where you shall 
have plenty of time to consider my proposition at your 
leisure.” 

The lights from the lanterns were shut off as if by 
magic, and left them in total darkness. With a dexter- 
ous movement a thick cloak was thrown over her, and 
despite her frantic struggles and stifled screams, Verlie 
found herself in the grasp of a pair of arms as strong as 
steel, and she was borne swiftly over the snow-crusted 
ground, then down a long flight of spiral stone steps, 
that seemed to lead down, down into the very bowels of 
the earth. 

A narrow, subterranean, serpentine passage was 
traversed, and far off could be heard the indistinct hum 
of gruff voices. 

The voices sounded nearer and nearer. There was the 


74 


ONE NIGHT’S MYSTERY. 


sharp, metallic click of a massive, rusty key turned in a 
lock, and a ponderous door was thrown back upon its 
hinges. There was a shuffling of many feet, followed 
by the loud exclamation of a score or more of voices, 
crying in a breath : 

“ In Heaven’s name, what have you there, captain ?” 

And Verlie’s captor answered, with a sardonic laugh : 

“An unwelcome guest'* 


CHAPTER IX. 

ONE NIGHT’S MYSTERY 

* As he spoke, he threw back the folds of the heavy 
cloak which enveloped his fair captive. The blaze of 
strong light for an instant nearly blinded Verlie. Then, 
as her eyes became accustomed to the dazzling light, she 
found that she was in a high, rocky cavern. 

Rough slab benches were ranged around the walls, 
and formed its only article of furniture, and upon these 
benches lounged a score of men — a fierce, dark, blood- 
thirsty-looking crew, from whose nautical air Verlie at 
once knew them to be sailors. All were armed with 
pistols and daggers stuck in their belts, and wore heavy 
black crape masks pulled low over their swarthy faces. 

With a feeling of sick terror, Verlie staggered back 
against the wall, as the dreadful conviction that she had 
fallen into a den of pirates or smugglers forced itself 
upon her mind. 

In a few words her captor explained the situation to 
the men, adding, thoughtfully : 


ONE NIGHT’S MYSTERY. 


75 


“ As she witnessed the duel, and in that particular 
locality , our safety demanded that she must be bound by 
an oath of silence, ere she is permitted to go free.” 

“ Don’t let her go, captain. She will turn informer,” 
shouted every one present, simultaneously. 

“ Silence !” said the man whom they addressed as 
captain, with a sudden flash of his eye, and in a tone 
that made the boldest quail. 

“ You have no right to make me your prisoner,” 
panted Verlie, indignantly, “ and I demand my freedom. 
I can see you are a cowardly set of law-breakers, and I 
know you must be the pirates who infest the harbor, and 
for whose apprehension such large rewards have been 
offered by the authorities ; but to waylay and entrap 
defenceless girls is a crime which ought to be too mean 
for even outlaws.” • 

A fierce murmur ran through the cavern at Verlie’s 
daring words ; but no one dared express his anger 
aloud. 

“ Allow me to set you right, fair lady,” replied her 
captor, with a cynical smile. “ We did not entrap you. 
You threw yourself into our power. And” (here he 
lowered his voice to a significant whisper) “ let me beg 
of you to use more respectful language when speaking 
of us. There is a spirit in my men that your words will 
be apt to arouse, and which I may find it difficult to 
subdue. I am sorry it is not in my power to comply 
with your request. Neither I nor my men would feel 
safe in this retreat afterwards if we let you go free. 

“ In short, it is my painful duty to inform you that 
you must remain with us, at least until such time as 
this harbor cavern is deserted by us, unless, as I said 
before, you are willing to take a solemn oath never to 


76 


ONE NIGHT S MYSTEKY. 


reveal what you have seen or heard this night. Will 
you take that oath ?” 

“No,” cried Verlie, indignantly * “ not to save myself 
from death , much less imprisonment, would I see you 
escape the punishment of the law you so richly deserve. 
You, above all, should face the gallows, for I saw you 
take a human life to-night 

“ The very moment I am free, that same moment I will 
inform upon you, and tell them the entrance to your 
retreat must be somewhere in the rear of the ruins of 
the old stone church in the graveyard. I will consider 
myself doing an act of justice to the world in ridding 
it of a band of robbers and murderers.” 

In a single moment, as if pandemonium had suddenly 
been let loose, each man was on his feet with a volley 
of oaths, and, in a twinkling, a score or more drawn 
revolvers glistened in the garish lamp-light. 

“ Lower your weapons, comrades,” commanded the 
handsome young chief, grimly. “ I will attend to this 
defiant little beauty.” 

The lovely blue eyes flashed him a look of scorn ; the 
golden, curly head crested itself proudly. 

“ Do not touch me !” she cried, as he grasped her arm 
firmly. 

“ Out of my way !” he cried, harshly, to the men who 
would have barred his exit. “ I will give her into 
Hagar’s hand for the present. Before we disperse 
to-night we will settle her future. You will follow me,” 
he said, not unkindly, as he turned to Verlie. 

She had no choice but to follow, but the first few 
steps became so painful she dropped at his feet in a 
deep swoon. Raising her quickly in his arms, he bore 
her swiftly through a long , narrow passage, and into an 


ONE NIGHT’S MYSTERY. 


77 


inner apartment, where an old colored woman sat busily 
sewing. 

“Lor’, Marse Lance !” she cried, “ what in the world 
has yo’ got thar ?” 

He pushed impatiently past her, and laid the slight, 
girlish figure in his arms hastily down on a rude couch, 
fashioned out of buffalo robes and blankets, that occu- 
pied the further corner. 

Black Hagar hobbled after him with all the curiosity 
of her race. 

“ I’ll ’tend dat ar chile, Marse Lance !” she cried. 
“ Am she dead or in a faint like ?” 

“ She has fainted,” he replied, briefly. 

“ I’ll fetch her to, quick ’nuff. You men don’t un’stan’ 
sech ’fairs.” 

“ Be quick about it, then,” he retorted, impatiently, 
as he turned on his heel. An exclamation from Black 
Hagar quickly arrested his steps. 

“ Oh, Lor’!” she cried out in astonishment, gazing 
down on the white, upturned face, upon which the fitful 
rays of the swinging oil-lamp glimmered fitfully, “ this 
young gal am as lovely as a born angel. There’ll be a 
scene when — ” 

“ Never mind making comments ; attend to your own 
affairs,” sharply exclaimed the man whom she addressed 
as “ Marse Lance.” “ Set about restoring her if you 
can. She has a badly sprained ankle. The deuce and 
all would be to pay if I were obliged to call in a doctor. 
I’ll come this way in the course of an hour and see how 
she is.” 

When he returned to the cavern again he found 
Black Hagar still working over her patient. 

“It am no use, Marse Lance,” she declared. “The 


78 


ONE NIGHTS MYSTERY. 


pain o’ this har foot has set her clar delarus. She can’t 
be brung too ; you’ll have to fetch a doctor, shu’.” 

“ A doctor !” he cried, staggering back and gnashing 
his teeth in impotent rage. “ It isn’t to be thought of ; 
no one must see the girl here. Why, that would ruin 
us, you old fool. Send for a doctor, indeed, to spread 
the startling discovery of this underground cavern that 
leads to the harbor, and that, too, in the very heart of 
the city ! Why, woman, you must be mad.” 

She had been vainly trying to restore the lovely 
young stranger to consciousness, but all her efforts 
seemed futile. The little white hands grew icy cold 
under her touch, the strong cordial she had forced 
between the girl’s white lips failed to draw back the 
fleeting breath, and the lovely face, framed in its sheen 
of golden hair, grew marble-white under her frightened 
gaze. 

“ It’s life or death, Marse Lance,” declared Black 
Hagar ; “ her life am in yo’ hands. Poor thing, it am 
a pity to let her die, she am so young an’ fair.” 

An hour later a tall, bearded man stood upon the 
steps of Dr. Keith’s residence. There came such a 
thundering knock at the front-door, and, directly after, 
such a peal at the office-bell, as made the doctor spring 
from his bed and grind something like an imprecation 
with the groan that fell from his lips. 

“Yon’re to go and see a person taken suddenly and 
uncommonly bad,” his servant announced ; “ the gen- 
tleman says his carriage is at the door, and you’re to 
come immediately if you please, sir.” 

Dr. Keith groaned. The snow was falling and drifts 
ing, the night was dark as the regions of Pluto. 

In five minutes he had joined the gentleman waiting 


ONE NIGHT S MYSTERY. 


79 


in the passage below. He found the stranger pacing 
up and down with great impatience. 

“ So you have come at last, doctor,” he exclaimed ; 
“ your minutes have seemed long hours.” 

“ Is it a gentleman or a lady whom you wish me to 
see?” asked the doctor, hurrying on his overcoat. 

“ A lady,” was the abrupt reply. 

“ Is she one of my patients or a stranger, and what is 
the nature of the case ?’* 

“ For Heaven’s sake, don’t stop to talk now !” 
exclaimed the gentleman. “ I’ll tell you as we drive 
along. We have five miles to go through this blinding 
snow-storm, and the road is beastly.’ 

The doctor hastened after him to the carriage, and 
the driver whirled them off directly. 

That was a drive and a night Dr. Keith never forgot. 
Where was this dark-browed stranger taking him ? he 
wondered. And why was he so silent ? He had not 
caught so much as a glimpse of his face. A slouched 
hat was pulled over it, revealing only an acquiline nose, 
and a pair of piercing, hard, brilliant eyes ; the rest of 
his face was entirely concealed by the coat-collar turned 
up around it. 

He was no coward, this fair-haired young doctor ; but 
as the carriage whirled along he could not help but 
remember that there were, perhaps, more thrilling events 
in the lives of doctors than any other class of men in the 
world — events that might have been romantic if they 
had not ended in cruel tragedies. 

He remembered the story of the “Mad Philosopher,” 
who for many years had made away with doctors in so 
mysterio'us a manner that the cruel crimes were never 
traced to him until after his own death, when he left 
a half-written book explaining that doctors should never 


80 


ONE NIGHT’B MYSTERY. 


be permitted to exist, as they interfered with God’s 
wishes by curing the sick, when they should be left to 
the will of Heaven, and further explaining that he had 
been patiently engaged in the work of exterminating 
them for years. 

And Dr. Keith remembered, too, the story of the aged 
doctor who had accompanied a stranger on just such a 
wild night, and was never seen again. A dozen or more 
tragic fates of doctors recurred to him. His musings 
and strange forebodings were brought to an abrupt end. 
The coach was brought to a sudden stop, and immedi- 
ately a score or more of dark forms surrounded the car- 
riage in which the doctor and the mysterious stranger 
sat. The doors on both sides of the vehicle were thrown 
violently open, and by the light of the carriage lamps 
Dr. Keith saw that the coach was surrounded by masked 
men. 

“ Footpads!” was his mental ejaculation, as his hand 
quickly sought his breast pocket. 

“ Here, none of that !” they exclaimed, throwing up 
his right arm. “ You have fallen into rough hands, my 
fine doctor, and the best plan for you is to come along 
quietly with us. If you act like a man, we will show 
you how we treat men ; but if you get up a scene, by the 
Lord Harry, w r e will show you how we deal with fools 
mighty quick. You must consent to have your eyes 
firmly bandaged, and come along quietly.” 

Dr. Keith hesitated a moment, weighing his chances 
of escape. 

“If I go with you,” he asked, “ when may I be per- 
mitted to return ?” 

“ Before daylight, doctor,” was the prompt reply. 

“ And do you assure me I am to see some one in need 
of my professional services ?” he inquired. 


ONE NIGHT S MYSTERY. 


81 


“Yes,” answered the spokesman, “and each moment 
is valuable.” 

“ Then I will go with you,” he responded. 

He was conducted down a path and down a flight of 
stone steps, the precaution being taken, however, to bind 
a heavy woolen scarf firmly over his eyes. Another long 
path was traversed. Then a door was swung back on 
its hinges. 

“Your patient is in there, doctor,” one of the men 
said briefly, unfastening the bandage from his eyes. 

Dr. Keith found himself in a large, circular apart- 
ment, whose walls and ceiling were draped in heavy 
folds of satin ; and from the ceiling, suspended from a 
gilded chain, was a silver lamp. Upon a luxurious 
couch in one end of the room lay a slender form. A tall 
negro woman, with a bright red turban bound around 
her head, was bending over the sufferer. 

The doctor hastily approached the couch. He could 
scarcely repress the cry of surprise that rose to his lips 
as his eyes fell upon the face on the pillow. It was the 
most beautiful girlish face he had ever beheld. 

“Why am yo’ doin’ nuffin fo’ her, doctor?” demanded 
the black woman, sharply eying him, with a glowering 
light in her eyes, not at all pleased at the rapt admira- 
tion with which he was gazing on the girl’s face, and 
muttering that Marse Lance was a fool to bring a hand- 
some young man like this to doctor the girl, and that 
ten to one he would fall in love with her, and there 
would be no end to the mischief then. 

Her words aroused the young doctor, recalling him to 
a sense of duty. The swollen ankle was skilfully 
treated, and the delirious fever (a complication of dis- 
eases in this case) allayed ; and the blue eyes began to 


82 


ONE NIGHT’S MYSTERY. 


quiver with returning consciousness. A moment later 
and the blue, velvety eyes had flared open wide. 

At that moment Black Hagar made a sign to the man 
pacing up and down outside, and immediately the young 
doctor was requested to take his departure. 

Again he was blindfolded and conducted back to the 
main road, placed in a carriage, and, after a long, swift 
ride, again found himself in front of his own door, richer 
by a bank-note for a large amount in his vest pocket, 
still accompanied by the dark-browed stranger. 

“ When shall I come again to see the young lady ?” 
he inquired, stepping out of the coach and into the deep 
snow-drifts. 

“ There is no need for you to see her again, ” was the 
brusque reply. “You are well paid for your night’s 
work. If you’re wanted, we know where to find you.” 

“ But there is need of my coming again,” persisted the 
young doctor. 

“Excuse me, I shall be the best judge of that,” 
retorted his companion, haughtily. “ And mark me, 
doctor, breathe one word of to-night’s experience at your 
peril. You never know whether you are surrounded by 
friends or foes.” 

“ I shall not mention it,” returned the doctor, equally 
haughty. 

The carriage door was shut to with a bang, and the 
vehicle whirled off into the Plutonian darkness from 
whence it came. 

“ I will see that young girl again,” the young doctor 
muttered, as he made his way through the snow-drifts 
up the steps of his house. “ I will go through fire and 
water and seas of blood but what I will unravel this 
night’s mystery.” 


WHAT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT. 


83 


CHAPTER X. 

WHAT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT. 

When Rutledge Chester had left the library after that 
startling disclosure to his mother as to why Verlie had 
left them so suddenly, Mrs. Chester walked slowly up 
and down the room, buried in the most profound 
thought. 

“ How blind I must have been,” she murmured, clasp- 
ing her jeweled hands together, “ not to have foreseen 
a contretemps of this kind when two such lovely young 
girls were brought under the same roof with my son. 
I thank God matters are no worse,” she went on, huskily. 
“ Ah, I dare not think what might have happened had it 
been Uldene to whom his heart, had gone out, for he 
could never have wedded her. The strange disclosure 
in Mark Sefton’s letter would have prevented it. Oh, 
how thankful I am to Heaven his choice did not rest on 
beautiful, unfortunate Uldene.” 

A moment later Mrs. Chester had hurriedly quitted 
the library. 

The sound of her footsteps had scarcely died away ere 
a white, trembling hand thrust aside the curtains of the 
bay window, and the slight figure the silken hanging 
had concealed sprang pantingly into the room. 

It was Uldene herself, white as a veritable ghost, and 
quivering with bitter, suppressed rage. 

“ She is glad he did not choose me /” she panted, with 
a little wild laugh. “Why, I wonder? Am I not as 
lovable as Verlie, with her fair, babyish, dimpled face 


84 


WHAT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT. 


and coaxing ways ? What could have been in the letter 
she spoke of, I wonder, to prevent Rutledge Chester 
from wedding me, if he had but loved me. I must , I will 
know. She keeps all her letters in the small iron safe in 
her room. It must be there. I will find it to-night — 
yes, to-night.” 

With hurried steps and beating heart, she retraced her 
steps to her own room, and there she found Mrs. Chester 
who had come to break the startling news to her as to 
why Verlie had disappeared so suddenly. 

If she had not been a consummate actress, during that 
scene she must have betrayed herself. 

It was an intense relief to her when she found herself 
alone. 

She never remembered how the long evening wore 
away. 

It was midnight at last. The gilded clock on the 
mantel chimed the hours softly ; but Uldene heard it, 
and springing from her couch, where she had thrown 
herself, she tip-toed to the door and stole noiselessly 
from the room. The gas jets under their rose-colored 
shades were turned low, throwing grotesque, weird 
shadows flickering down the corridor. 

“ I glide so well I might be mistaken for a ghost if 
any one were to see me,” thought Uldene, pausing 
before Mrs. Chester’s apartment. “ Ah,” she murmured, 
with infinite satisfaction, “ she has not fastened the door. 
It yields to my touch.” 

She threw it open softly and entered. The shaded 
night lamp upon the table threw a dim light about the 
room, revealing the form on the conch and the safe be- 
yond in the alcove, half concealed by heavy velvet cur- 
tains. 

Trembling with suppressed excitement, the desperate 


WHAT HAPTENED AT MIDNIGHT. 


85 


girl stole carefully forward, and was soon kneeling before 
the iron safe. The key was usually in the lock ; it was 
not there now. 

Here was an unlooked-for dilemma. Mrs. Chester 
moved uneasily on her pillow, and at that instant a cord 
about her neck attracted Uldene's attention. Without 
an instant’s deliberation she crept to the couch and bent, 
with bated breath, over the sleeper. 

“ Fate favors me,” thought Uldene — she had detected 
the fumes of a strong sleeping potion Mrs. Chester had 
taken before retiring, to allay the intense pain of an ach- 
ing tooth ; “ she will sleep safely enough through it 
all.” 

Quickly severing the cord in twain, Uldene held the 
coveted key in her hand. As she turned away she dis- 
tinctly heard Mrs. Chester murmur : 

“ Ah, thank God ! fate has not destined my boy to 
love Uldfcne — beautiful, hapless Uldene.” 

The girl drew back with a smothered, gasping cry. 

“ Those horrible words again ! What could they 
mean ?” 

With white, set face, Uldene glided to the safe and 
inserted the key. The door swung back on its hinges 
with a loud, ominous creak. 

Uldene sprang from her knees before the safe and 
turned to the couch. Mrs. Chester moved uneasily on 
her pillow, but the sound did not wake her, and again 
Uldene knelt trembling before the safe. 

In a crimson velvet jewel case to the right lay the 
sparkling Chester diamonds, and on the left a packet of 
papers, and beyond them several letters. 

Quickly abstracting the two letters she found in Mark 
Sefton’s well-known chirography, she thrust them hastily 
in her pocket, closed the safe hurriedly and softly, and 


86 


WHAT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT. 


turned quickly toward the couch to replace the key — 
turned, and found herself face to face with Nanon, Mrs. 
Chester’s maid. 

In moments of the most thrilling danger, hardened 
criminals display the most heroic coolness and courage. 
Uldene Sefton had counted the cost, and had planned 



what she should do in a case of emergency, should she 
be discovered in her attempt to gain possession of that 
all-important letter. 

Quick as thought she executed her clever plan. She 
gave a little suppressed scream, gazing around her with 
well-simulated surprise. 

“ Oh, where am I ?” she cried, in pretended bewilder- 


WHAT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT. 


87 


ment, and clasping her white hands. “ Oh, I am in 
somebody’s room. I — I — pray you will forgive me. My 
old habit of sleep-walking must have come over me 
again.’* 

Cleverly as Uldene had carried out her daring idea, 
she had not succeeded in deceiving the French maid. 

“ I have heard of people walking about in their sleep 
many a time before,” whispered Nanon, significantly, 
“ but I have never heard of a somnambulist doing what 
you tried to do to-night.” 

“ Why, what did I try to do ?” said Uldene, in pre- 
tended wonder; but beneath her cool bravado she was 
terribly excited. 

“ You were trying to open Mrs. Chester’s safe,” 
declared Nanon, bravely. 

“ You impudent creature, how dare you intimate such 
a thing ?” gasped Uldene, fairly livid with rage. 

“ It is true,” whispered the girl, stolidly. 

Do you know what I could do with you for making 
such a false statement ?” whispered Uldene, gliding up 
close to her — so near that her hot breath scorched the 
girl’s cheek. 

“ No matter what you could do ; I would stand my 
ground, and let the whole wide world know what you 
have tried to do,” declared the girl, defiantly. 

“ I could say it was you who attempted to open that 
safe to-night, and my sudden entrance prevented you 
from accomplishing it. Who would believe your word 
against mine ? The consequence would be instant dis- 
charge, and it would be hard for you to gain another 
situation with a cloud like that resting on your name.” 

There are women that possess the deadly magnetic 
fascination of a serpent, and Uldene w^s one of them. 


88 


WHAT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT. 


She held the girl spell-bound under her cool, keen, 
steady eyes. 

“ On the other hand,” continued Uldene, cautiously, 
“keep my pitiful habit of sleep-walking a secret — a dead 
secret between you and me — and I will reward you 
handsomely for it. Do you consent ?” 

As she spoke she slipped a glittering ring from her 
linger, placing it in the girl’s rough, toil-hardened hand. 

“ Will you take this and promise me this shall be a 
dead secret between you and me ?” she asked, keenly 
watching the girl’s face. 

The ring had been a present from Mrs. Chester to 
Uldene at Christmas. She had no idea of its great 
value. 

There are few maids that can withstand a persuasive 
argument of that kind. 

Dearly as the girl loved her mistress, the glittering 
bauble overcame her scruples. 

“ No one shall ever know. • I promise you, Miss 
Uldene,” she answered, slowly. 

“Thank you,” replied the beautiful, guilty culprit, 
gliding from the room. 

Gaining her own apartment, after taking particular 
care to secure the door, Uldene pantingly sank into the 
nearest seat, drawing the letter from her pocket. Slowly 
the clock on the mantel struck the hour of one — then 
two. Still Uldene Sefton sat with the fatal letter in her 
hands. Word by word for the twelfth time she had 
slowly read and re-read Mark Sefton’s strange revelation 
(concerning herself) to Mrs. Chester. At last she knew 
all of her history that was known to the Seftons — knew 
that the honest, bronzed light-house keeper was not her 
father, and that the golden-haired girl who had won 
Rutledge Chester from her was not her sister. 


A GREAT SURPRISE. 


89 


She read, too^ with a white, awful face, of the terrible 
secret her young mother had struggled so hard to tell, 
concerning the little babe she was fated to leave with 
the honest light-house keeper’s wife ; and a horrible 
fear ran through Uldene’s heart as she read the awful 
warning those dying lips had uttered : 

“ This babe must never love , for she must never marry." 

“ What curse is it that rests over my head like a drawn 
sword ?” she cried out, sharply, as she crushed the letter 
in her death-cold hands. “Am I to live without love 
all my life through ? I cannot — I will not believe it ! 
Though it should be my eternal doom, I will wed Rut- 
ledge Chester if I can win him, for I love him better 
than my own life — better than my own soul. Aye, 
though angels or devils warned me, I should be deaf to 
their warnings. I would defy fate itself to become his 
bride.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

A GREAT SURPRISE. 

Rutledge Chester’s determination to go aoroad was a 
serious blow to his mother ; but her grief was slightly 
assuaged by his promise that he would remain with her 
at least a month longer. 

That was a month never to be forgotten by Uldene, for 
it stood out from her life like a bright star long after 
the future years were clouded over with the deepest 
gloom. With every day that dawned, with every sun 
that rose and set, Uldene’s love for handsome Rutledge 
Chester deepened. The world was nothing to her ; she 


90 


A GREAT SURPRISE. 


became absorbed in this one passion ; it was her life, 
her all. There are some to whom the fatal gift of a great 
love is given. They are the happiest, even as they are 
the most miserable. They reach the highest bliss that 
life offers, and they know the most bitter of its pains. 

It happens so often that a great love is lavished in 
vain ; it was so in Uldene’s case. 

Handsome Rutledge Chester, who had given all the 
love of his heart to beautiful, golden-haired Verlie, 
never knew, never dreamed, of this growing attachment 
that was springing up in Uldene’s heart for him. 

He must have been blind that he did not read the 
story those wondrous dark eyes, half hidden by their 
curling lashes, told him ; that he did not notice, if by 
accident his hand touched against hers, how her little 
hand trembled, how her cheeks flushed and paled at the 
sound of his voice, and her heart beat at the sound of 
his approaching footstep. 

There was something pitiful in her great love for 
him. 

Were the senator and his wife blind, too, that they 
did not notice the girl’s wild, idolatrous love for their 
handsome son ? Ah ! so it seemed, or they would have 
parted them at once. It would have been a deed of 
mercy. 

As for Rutledge Chester, he plunged recklessly in the 
mad whirlpool of social life, to forget, as far as was in 
his power, the fair-faced girl whose loss had made the 
world desolate for him. 

He turned for sympathy to Uldene, and in this way 
they were thrown into each other’s society more than 
before. 

It happened that long before Verlie’s departure cards 
had been sent out for a gramd ball^ to be given by Mrs. 


A GREAT SURPRISE. 


91 


Chester. Tableaux were to be the main feature of the 
entertainment, and Verlie had rehearsed with Rutledge 
to enact that beautiful, tragic love-poem, “ The Parting 
of the Lovers.” 

Rutledge would have given much to have been able 
to resign his part, but those having the tableaux in 
charge would not hear of it. Uldene could take the 
absentee’s place, they declared, and so they settled it. 

There was no help for it, so Rutledge manfully 
crushed out the throb of despair in his heart caused by 
the bitter-sweet memory of a fair face lost to him for- 
ever, and went on with the rehearsal. 

These rehearsals but fed the flame of hapless Uldene’s 
love. They were as dangerous as an intoxicating 
draught, or a sweet, honeyed poison. 

“ The Parting of the Lovers ” was one of the sweetest 
and saddest love-poems ever written. The scene which 
they were to enact, and from which the poem took its 
name, was sublime. It represented a lovely, dark-eyed 
girl and her lover, who had met upon the sands at mid- 
night to take a last, tearful farewell of each other. A 
strangely cruel fate parted them. A dying father’s curse, 
if they two wedded, had torn their hearts asunder. The 
scene is sublime. * The white stretch of beach, and the 
dark, curling waters at their feet, lighted up by the ten- 
der, pitying light of the moon ; the two figures standing 
out against the dark background ; the girl’s beautiful 
white arms clasping him, while the tragic sorrow on her 
lovely face reveals but too eloquently that it is for the 
last time. 

The dread moment has come. Her lover must unclasp 
her arms, when — ah ! how shall I picture it ? — he finds 
that the bright young life of his beautiful love has gone 
out with the last, fervent caress; and, maddened with 


92 


A GREAT SURPRISE. 


despair, grief and horror, the desperate, heart-broken 
lover clasps his darling closer in his arms, and leaps far 
out into the waves with her, and they are never seen 
again. They would have been parted in life ; but they 
have gone down into the dark abyss of death clasped 
heart to heart. 

It was little^ wonder that these rehearsals nearly 
betrayed the secret Uldene would have died rather than 
reveal. 

When she saw the expression of earnest, almost ador- 
ing, love that Rutledge tried so hard to represent, a crim- 
son flush seemed to scorch her cheek and brow. 

It was “ only acting ” on his part, but it was all 
strangely real to her. She lulled herself with sweet 
dreams that were fatal to her. A wild, longing wish 
came to her that the rehearsals might go on forever. 
They seemed a part of her existence. Under the able 
superintendence of those who had taken the affair in 
hand, the drawing-rooms were most effectively arranged 
for the tableaux. The inner and smaller one was 
divided from the large room by a long, sweeping curtain 
of rich crimson silk ; a very neat stage had been erected ; 
and in the large room the chairs for the guests were 
arranged in a circle. 

Soon after eight the roll of carriages began, and bur- 
den after burden was deposited at the Chester mansion. 

“ Charades and tableaux at nine.” So read the dainty 
satin programme. “ Dancing at ten.” 

When the silver clock rang out in musical chimes the 
hour of nine, the lights in the room were subdued, there 
was a soft sound of music, and the rose-colored silk cur- 
tain was drawn up on one of the prettiest tableaux ever 
arranged. 

It was a scene from “ The Jailer’s Daughter ” — a scene 


A GREAT SURPRISE. 


93 


where a jailer’s daughter, who had fallen in love with a 
handsome prisoner, steals the key from beneath her stern 
old father’s pillow, and throws open the door of her 
lover’s prison and sets him free. 

The next was a scene from “ Cupid at School ” — a 
merry, fun-loving romp at boarding-school, who had 
fallen in love with the young French dancing-master, 
and who was detected at midnight being let down from 
the dormitory window in a clothes basket by her school- 
mates to keep her tryst with her impatient lover. The 
anger depicted upon the grim face of the virago of a 
principal, who had come unexpectedly upon the scene, 
brought warm applause and shouts of laughter. 

Then, at the tinkling of the silver bell, the lights were 
turned low again. This was to be the last tableau and 
the hit of the evening. The softest, saddest strains of 
music floated through the room. There was a hush, and 
as the silken curtain went up again, a murmur of 
admiration and surprise rang through the drawing-room. 

The tableau was the parting of the lovers by the 
sea-shore. 

The white waves seemed to dimple and sparkle in the 
moonlight which fell upon the faces of the two lovers, 
clasped for the last time in each other’s arms. 

It was little wonder people held their breath as they 
gazed upon the handsome face of Rutledge Chester as 
the impassioned lover. There was something almost 
sublime in the adoring love that lighted up his dark, 
grave, kingly face, as he bent over his love. 

“If this was acting, what could the reality be !” they 
asked themselves. 

But as they gazed upon the face of the girl he held 
clasped in his arms, their wonder grew. 

Her long, dark curling hair fell around her lovely face 


94 


A GREAT SURPRISE. 


like a black vail. Was it fancy, or did the wondrous 
face of Uldene Sefton really whiten under their gaze, 
and her lips grow ashen pale. 

Was it love or terror that shone in the dark, upraised 
eyes ? 

The scene held the vast audience spell-bound, and 
frightened them as they gazed, until the silken curtain 
shut out the scene from their sight. 

And at that instant quite a scene was transpiring back 
of the curtain. 

In stepping back from the narrow platform which 
had served as a stage, one of the planks beneath the 
Brussels rug gave way, and Rutledge was precipitated 
to the floor below — a distance of ten feet or more — his 
head striking one of the pillars that supported the 
groined roof as he fell. 

A wild cry burst from Uldene’s white lips. In an 
instant she was keeling beside the bleeding, unconscious 
form. She raised his head in her white arms, attempt- 
ing to staunch the blood that flowed from a wound on 
his temple, with sobs and bitter cries pitiful to hear. 

“ Leave me with him until the doctor and his mother 
come,” she whispered, motioning them all away. 

Silently they quitted the apartment, closing the door 
softly after them ; and the gay strains of the dance 
music that struck up in the grand ball-room stifled the 
sound of her wailing cries. 

“ Rutledge ! my love ! oh, my love ! if you die, 
Heaven must let me die, too !” she sobbed, wildly, cov- 
ering the white, unconscious face, the closed eyes, and 
the matted hair with passionate kisses in her terrible 
grief. “ What would life be to me without you ?” she 
moaned. “ Oh, Rutledge, my love, you will never 
know how well I have loved you. I would give my 


A GREAT SURPRISE. 


95 


life for yours. I would meet death to save you one 
pang.” 

She clasped the unconscious form still closer in her 
white arms, caressing him with piteous agony, and 
murmuring broken words of love over him. 

Unconscious, did I say ? It was not quite that. 

For a few moments the force of the fall stunned and 
bewildered Rutledge Chester, but the action of the 
cold water with which Uldene bathed his face brought 
back his dazed senses at once. 

He felt the clasp of the clinging arms about him. 
The passionate, wailing, broken words of love that were 
sobbed out over him fell like a shock upon his startled 
ears. Sheer amazement and consternation chained his 
dazed senses. 

Should he open his eyes and falter : “ Forgive me, 
Uldene ; I have unconsciously discovered your love for 
me?” It would be worse than death to the girl’s proud 
nature ; the shock, the cruel embarrassment would 
prostrate her. Yet it was equally embarrassing to him 
to receive the assurances of her wild, idolatrous love, 
with closed eyes, she believing him to be unconscious. 

Rutledge Chester was a gentleman and a man of 
honor in the strictest sense of the word ; yet between 
duty and delicacy he scarcely knew which way to turn. 

Fortunately the doctor’s quick footsteps relieved him 
in his strangely trying dilemma. 

The usual restoratives were applied ; then he dared 
open his eyes. Uldene stood beside him with a white, 
scared face. 

“ Oh, doctor, tell me — is he badly hurt or not ? I — I 
cannot bear suspense,” he heard her say, piteously. 

“Badly hurt? Oh, no, my dear,” replied the doctor, 
cheerfully. “ I am glad to say Mr. Chester has had a 


96 


THE FULFILLMENT OF A TERRIBLE CURSE. 


miraculous escape. He has had a bad fall — a slight 
scalp wound — and was stunned, that’s all. I’ll venture 
to say he will be all right in a day or so.” 

Rutledge Chester looked up into her face, his own 
flushing painfully. His heart smote him with a strange 
pity. The great, dark, velvety eyes that fell so quickly 
under his gaze were wet with tears. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE FULFILLMENT OF A TERRIBLE CURSE. 

The secret he had discovered in so strange a manner 
puzzled and troubled Rutledge Chester not a little. 

He was amazed that any one should love him so much 
— that it was of such vital importance to any one whether 
he lived or died. His heart was touched ; he was greatly 
perplexed. 

If his heart had not been given to another it might 
have turned then to Uldene. He felt so sorry for her. 
He was a thorough gentleman, and the question which 
agitated him was, What should he do ? 

He admired Uldene exceedingly. She was the most 
beautiful girl he had ever seen ; but admiration was one 
sentiment, love quite another. 

He came to the conclusion that the best course to pur- 
sue would be to go away at once. It would be kinder 
to Uldene than to stay, knowing her pitiful secret. 

In time she would learn to forget him. She was only 
a romping, merry, madcap of a school girl — a spoiled, 


THE FULFILLMENT OF A TERRIBLE CURSE. 


97 


indulged child. With absence she would be sure to for- 
get this little romance, he assured himself. 

When he make known his determination at the break- 
fast table, two days later, Mrs. Chester was greatly dis- 
turbed, and Uldene grew pale as death. 

He was going — going away on the beginning of the 
following week. The words sounded like a death-knell 
to hapless Uldene. What should she do with her life 
after he went away ? The world would be so lonely ; 
the brightness of her life would be obscured in pitiful 
gloom. She arose and left the table, with a forced smile 
on her lips, and a steady step ; but when the door outhe 
breakfast-room was closed between Rutledge Chester 
and herself, the wildest sob that was ever heard broke 
from her lips, and she groped her way through the mar- 
ble corridor like one stricken blind. 

On the stairway she met Mrs. Chester’s maid hurry- 
ing toward the breakfast-room with a telegram ; but the 
matter did not interest her — nothing interested her save 
that which concerned Rutledge Chester. 

An hour later Mrs. Chester came into her boudoir in a 
flutter of excitement. 

“I am called away hurriedly by a telegram I have just 
received, Uldene,” she said. “ I shall be back Thursday 
at latest. Do you think you will mind remaining here a 
day or so in charge of the servants, dear ?” she asked, 
anxiously. “ Rutledge will be here, you know, when he 
is not at his club-room.” 

“I shall not mind,” answered the girl. 

If Mrs. Chester had not been so flurried and excited 
she would have noticed how white Uldene’s lovely face 
was, and how hopeless and forlorn was her usually gay, 
sprightly manner. 

An hour later, the senator and his wife took their 


98 


THE FULFILLMENT OF A TERRIBLE CURSE. 


hurried departure. Mrs. Chester’s last words, as she 
tpok her place beside her husband in the family coach, 
were : 

“ I may have a startling surprise for you when I return ; 
still I must not be too sanguine.” 

Then the coach door closed with a bang, and an 
instant later whirled out of sight. 

“ You will be very lonely without mother the few days 
she will be gone,” said Rutledge, thoughtfully, as he 
turned to Uldene. “ I should suggest that you invite 
some of your girl friends here to pass the time with 
you.” 

“ No,” replied Uldene. “ I — I could not endure their 
chatter and their laughter,” she muttered below her 
breath. “ It would drive me mad.” 

Uldene seemed to forget that she was standing on the 
cold marble steps, with only the crimson silk scarf 
wrapped loosely around her dark, curly head ; but Rut- 
ledge remembered. 

“ The carriage is out of sight,” he said, taking her 
cold little hand to lead her back to the library. “ Come 
into the house, Uldene.” 

The magic touch of his hand seemed to unnerve her. 
Quick as a flash, she snatched it from his grasp and 
sprang into the vestibule, but ere she had taken another 
step forward she suddenly swayed to and fro like a leaf 
in the tempest-tossed wind, and would have fallen to 
the floor, if Rutledge had not sprung forward and 
quickly caught her in his arms. 

“ Uldene !” he cried in alarm. 

She did not answer. She had sunk back in his arms 
in a dead faint. 

Rutledge bore the slender form quickly to the library, 
and rang the bell with such a resounding peal for the 


* THE FULFILLMENT OF A TERRIBLE CURSE. 


99 


housekeeper that motherly Mrs. Pierce was “ startled 
clean out of her wits,” as she afterwards expressed it. 

In a few words Rutledge explained what had hap- 
pened. 

“ See that she is removed to her room at once, and 
give her your kindly attention,” he said, thoughtfully 
and gravely. 

“ I wonder that young master is so blind that he can- 
not see the girl is pining away for love of him,” thought 
Mrs. Pierce, compassionately, as she smoothed back the 
long, lovely dark curls that strayed over the pillow, and 
caressed the girl’s little burning hands. “ Why, any 
one can see she has not been the same since Master 
Rutledge announced that he was going abroad. But, 
then, men are proverbially blind.” 

An hour later Uldene had grown so much worse that 
a doctor was summoned in all haste. Was it chance, 
or the strange complication of fate most cruel ? — the 
physician called in was young Doctor Keith, the same 
physician who played such a prominent part in one of 
our previous chapters. 

Dr. Keith looked gravely at the beautiful patient he 
had been called to attend. 

“ She is suffering from nervous prostration, and an 
intense mental shock,” he said. “ If it turns to brain 
fever between this and midnight, saving her will be some- 
thing less than a miracle.” 

This was the startling word Mrs. Pierce carried down 
to Rutledge Chester in the library, and which caused 
him to send the following telegram flashing southward 
over the wires to Mark Sefton : 

“ Can you come on at once ? Uldene is very ill.” 


100 THE FULFILLMENT OF A TERRIBLE CURSE. * 

In Mrs. Chester’s hurried and unexpected departure, 
she had quite forgotten to mention her destination, and, 
therefore, at this critical hour she could not be recalled. 

The matter was all the more alarming when the 
young doctor called Rutledge Chester to Uldene’s bed- 
side an hour later, asking that three doctors be called 
in for the purpose of consultation. 

“ I have done all in my power for her,” he said, com- 
passionately. “ I should like to have the opinions of 
other physicians as a last resort.” 

Three skilful, prominent physicians were summoned 
without delay. Each promptly concurred in the opinion 
of young Dr. Keith. There was an acute mental trouble 
preying upon the heart of the lovely, hapless patient. 
Her strange symptoms baffled and puzzled them, skilful 
as they were. She was sinking — dying before their eyes ; 
human skill seemed of little avail ; all their efforts to 
arrest the scythe of the dread destroyer, Death, seemed 
futile. It was their opinion that when the tide drifted 
out at midnight the life of beautiful Uldene would drift 
out with it. 

The doctors, together with Rutledge Chester and Mrs. 
Pierce, the housekeeper, sat by the couch, awaiting in 
the solemn hush the pitiful end. Outside the door the 
servants knelt, weeping and wailing. The dying girl, 
who had brought sunshine and joy to the quiet old 
mansion, had been dearly beloved by one and all. Now 
they were kneeling, praying outside the door, awaiting 
with averted face for the breath of life to leave its 
beautiful tenement of clay. 

Mark Sefton would come — come late. When he 
arrived all would be over with dark-eyed Uldene. 

A little before midnight she had opened her great, 


THE FULFILLMENT OF A TERRIBLE CURSE. 101 


dark, wistful eyes, and a smile of unutterable joy lit up 
her face as they rested upon Rutledge Chester. 

“ Is it true that I am dying ?” she whispered, faintly. 
“Tell me, is it true? Do not deceive me. I — I know 
— I feel that I am.” 

How could they look into her face and answer her 
falsely. 

“ Tell me, Rutledge, is it true ?” she whispered. 

He controlled himself with a mighty effort, and bent 
over her, taking her poor, fluttering little hand in his. 

“I — I fear it is so, Uldene,” he said, huskily. “Is 
there any message you would like to send to any one — 
any wish you would like fulfilled ?” 

She looked up into his eyes with a great light break- 
ing over her lovely face. 

“ If one great wish in my heart could be fulfilled, I — 
I could die happier,” she faltered, in pitiful, quivering 
gasps. 

“ If there is anything I can do for you, rest assured 
that you have only to ask and I will grant it, if it be in 
my power, Uldene,” he answered, huskily, little dream- 
ing what that great wish in her heart was. 

“I cannot tell you, Rutledge. I will whisper it to 
Mrs. Pierce, and she will tell you,” she murmured. 
“ Remember, Rutledge, I would never ask it if I were 
not going to die — so soon — yes, so soon.” 

“You shall tell Mrs. Pierce,” he answered, gently. 

And yet no thought came to him what it was she 
wished in this her dying hour. 

The doctor and Rutledge withdrew to the other end 
of the apartment, and the dying girl was left with the 
sobbing housekeeper quite alone. 

“I wish — but, oh, it could not 'be,” sighed Uldene, 
faintly — “ I wish — that I — could be Rutledge Chester’s 


102 THE FULFILLMENT OF A TERRIBLE CURSE. 

bride. I loved him so in life with all my heart, with all 
my soul. I should like to belong to him on earth, and 
wait for him inside the gates of heaven. I should like 
his hands to clasp me as my life drifts out. I would 
like his voice to be the last sad music I should hear on 
earth ; and the words — ah, if I could but hear him say ; 
‘Uldene — my Uldene — my bride!’ I — oh, then I could 
die happy — so happy. 

“ Would it be hard for him to grant me my dying 
wish, do you think ?” she whispered, still fainter. 
“ Remember, it would be for a few brief moments — only 
a few fleeting moments — while I hover between this 
world and the great unknown world I am going to. 
Tell him quickly, Mrs. Pierce. Tell him how I love him. 
I love him so well, that if, after I am dead, he came and 
knelt upon my tomb, parted the long grass, and whis- 
pered my name, I should hear his voice in my grave. 
Remember, he should never have known of my love if I 
were not dying.” 

Sobbing like a child, the old housekeeper called Rut- 
ledge Chester aside, and imparted to him the startling 
mission upon which the dying girl had sent her. 

That was the bitterest hour of Rutledge Chester’s 
life. He started back with a low, hoarse cry. He 
fought one of the strangest battles with his own 
thoughts that mortal man was ever called upon to face. 

“ Remember, master, it is but for a few brief moments 
the poor child would bear your name,” urged the house- 
keeper. “ She would not last the hoar out that would 
see her your bride. She is so young — a thoughtless 
child — and she loves you so.” 

He was touched to the depths of his soul ; the strug- 
gle in his heart was ended. He turned to the old house- 
keeper with a white, grave face. 


103 


U 1 WOULD RATHER SEE YOU DEAD. 5 ’ 

“ I will grant the poor child’s dying wish,” he said, 
hoarsely. “ She shall be my bride ! God grant that it 
may make her last moments happier.” 

A minister was hastily summoned, and in the hour of 
midnight, while the wild winds moaned and sobbed out- 
side, and the whirling snowflakes without wrapped the 
earth in a cold, white, frozen shroud, the fatal marriage 
— that man could never break, and Heaven would not 
annul — was solemnized. 

In the solemn hour of death Uldene lay back upon 
her pillow — Rutledge Chester’s bride. While hovering 
on the brink of eternity she had braved the fatal warn- 
ing that hung like a curse over her beautiful, hapless 
head — that solemn warning: “ She must never love , for 
she must never marry” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“ I WOULD RATHER SEE YOU DEAD, IN YOUR YOUTH AND 
FAIR BEAUTY, THAN HIS BRIDE.” 

We must now return to the thrilling scene transpiring 
in the underground apartment in which beautiful Verlie 
Sefton found herself, by the force of strange circum- 
stances, an unwilling prisoner. 

When Verlie awoke to consciousness the great pansy- 
blue eyes flared open wide, wandering around the 
strange apartment in which she found herself ; then up 
into the face bending over her in the utmost bewilder- 
ment. 


104 “i WOULD RATHER SEE YOU DEAD.” 

“ Where am I ?” she gasped, faintly. “ And who are 
you ?” 

Black Hagar showed her ivories in a broad grin. 

“ Ise your nurse, chile,” she Answered, “an’ the pusson 
who jes left am yer doctor.” 

“ Have I been ill ?” whispered Verlie, incredulously. 



“ Yer ankle war sprained, honey, an’ the doctor war 
fetched to set it.” 

• “ Oh, I remember ! I remember !” shrieked Verlie, in 
terror. “ The duel — and — all that happened after 
it ! If this is your house I pray you to let me go at 


“i WOULD RATHE& SEE YOU DEAD.” 105 

once,’* she sobbed, clinging to the old woman’s skirts in 
a transport of grief pitiful to behold. “ Those who love 
me are searching for me in anguish that is more bitter 
to bear than death. I have a darling sister whose heart 
must have broken when she returned to the spot where 
she left me lying unconscious and found me — gone ! 
I dare not picture it ! Oh, Uldene ! Uldene ! 

“ And there is another !” she sobbed piteously — 
“ another who loves me, and who had only that evening 
asked me to be his bride ! Oh ! what must he be 
suffering, my handsome, noble love, whom I love so 
dearly, as the horrible hours drag their slow lengths 
by ! How he must have searched for me ! He will go 
through fire and flood, search the whole world through, 
but what he will find me ; and those who have detained 
me here will feel the full force of his vengeance. 

“ Oh, Rutledge ? my love ! my love !” moaned Verlie. 
“ Heaven grant that you may find me soon !” 

“ It’s many a long day afore yer lover would think o’ 
findin’ yer ha’ar, honey/’ laughed Black Hagar. 

“ Oh, if I could but persuade you to help me to get 
away from here!” sobbed Verlie. “He who mourns 
my loss so keenly would reward you with plenty of 
gold if you would but help me.” 

“ Chile, I wouldn’t dare ter do it,” declared Black 
Hagar. “ Ise powerful ’fraid of the cap’n. He am a 
reg’lar debbil. He brung yer ha’ar hisself, an’ says he, 
when he left de room, 4 Hagar, Ise gwine ter leave dat 
gal under yer eye, an’ ef I don’t find she am ha’ar when 
I cum back, I wouldn’t give much for yer ole black 
hide ; you min’ my words !’ So you see, honey, I 
wouldn’t dare ter. Why, chile, he’d murder me ! He 
am none ter good ter do it.” 

“ Oh, Heaven ! what awful fate has conspired against 


106 


“i WOULD RATHER SEE YOU DEAD.” 

me ?” sobbed Verlie, wringing her little hands. “ I 
cannot see where all this will lead to. Oh, pity me, 
Hagar ! If you will not set me free, kill me ! Better 
death than that I should fall into the hands of the man 
who brought me here.” 

“Lor’, chile, don’t yer talk like that. Old Hagar 
wouldn’t tech one ha’ar o’ yer golden head fer all 
Marse Cap’n’s ill-gotten gold. Guess not ! But let 
me give yer a bit o’ ad wise, honey. For de good Lor’s 
sake, chile, don’t go for to rilin’ of him up. Yer don’t 
know de cap’n like I do. ’Member ole Hagar’s warnin’. 
De cap’n am a fierce debbil.” 

Left to herself, Verlie thought over the situation 
until she grew frantic with terror. 

“ Had Heaven shut her out from its mercy ?” she 
asked herself. 

There was no sleep for Verlie as the hours dragged by. 

It was well for her that there was not. As she lay 
there thinking over some plan by which she might make 
her escape, the sound of cautious footsteps fell upon her 
ear ; they drew nearer and nearer, and the blood froze 
in Verlie’s veins, as they halted outside the door. 

She gave a suppressed cry. 

“Hush !” whispered a voice which she instantly recog- 
nized as the captain’s. “As you value your safety — 
hush ! I am here on an errand which concerns you 
vitally. You must listen to what I have to say. Send 
Hagar to unbar the door ; every moment is precious.” 

“I will not unbar the door,” cried Verlie. “I am 
thankful that those bolts form even a slight protection 
in keeping you out.” 

“ You must listen to what I have to say to you,” 
repeated the young captain, sternly ; “it is a matter of 
life and death, I assure you upon my honor,” 


107 


“i WOULD RATHER SEE YOU DEAD.” 

“ A life, or a death, for that matter, weighs little with 
you” retorted the girl, bravely ; “ and as for honor — a 
man who wilfully abducts a young girl, and keeps her a 
captive, because she has by chance stumbled upon the 
nefarious calling of himself and his wicked associates, is 
dead to the word honor. I would not trust you.” 

“ I know full well that I have forfeited your respect 
by what you have seen and heard,” he said, in an agi- 
tated whisper, “ but there is this much honor about me — 
I must warn you of the fatal consequences your discovery, 
and your persistent assertions that you would bring the 
officers of the law upon us the first moment we set you 
free, has brought upon you. 

“The men’s solemn conference has ended. They 
intend to show you no mercy. The sentence they have 
passed upon you is imprisonment for life within these 
walls, and that would be worse than death for you. 
Aye, death would be a thousand times more merciful 
than life among these lawless men. Even if you did 
consent to an oath of silence now, it would be too late.” 

Verlie did not faint ; she did not cry out, or utter any 
moan ; the horror of his words held her spell-bound. 
She was young and brave — life seemed sweet to her. 
She realized that what he said was perfectly true. 
These outlaws, who could thus defy the laws of men, 
would have no scruple in defying the law of God ; even 
if they made away with her, the world would be none 
the wiser. 

“ There is but one escape for you,” whispered her 
captor, “ and that is, to become my bride. I am a reck- 
less, defiant man, Miss Sefton ; but your beauty won 
my heart at first sight. The abhorrence in your beauti- 
ful eyes awoke me to a sense of my downfall from the 
ranks of honorable men. Be my wife, and you shall 


108 


“ I WOULD RATHER SEE YOU DEAD.” 


leave this place forever. A wife could give no evidence 
against her husband ; you would — ” 

“ Stop !” cried Verlie ; “ I will not listen. ” 

“ I beg you will take time to consider,” he said, 
earnestly. 

“ I need no time to consider,” replied Verlie, with ringing 
scorn. “ Do you think that freedom or life itself is worth 
purchasing at the cost of becomingyour wife ?” cried the 
girl, with passionate vehemence. “ Do you think I could 
clasp the hand at the altar that was stained with blood ?” 

The man upon the other side of the cavern door 
winced under the scathing words. A strange gleam 
shot into his eyes ; a fearful panorama passed instanta- 
neously before his mental vision. He could imagine a 
lost soul gazing from the deep abyss of Hades into the 
felicity and joy of Heaven, fully realizing that all hope 
for him was lost forever. 

He began to realize that a dark chasm yawned between 
himself and this fair girl ; a fatal line streaked his 
hand, which would forever shadow the grasp of a purer 
one. 

It is a mistake to suppose that crime-steeped souls 
cannot love. The basest criminal, strange as it may 
seem, can love as intensely, though not as purely or 
unselfishly, as the noblest hero. 

From the moment his eyes had rested upon the beau- 
tiful girl who had dared defy him so bravely and auda- 
ciously, the wish came to this bad man that he had 
lived a different life that he might have wooed and, in 
time, won her. A moment he hesitated. 

“ Do you love any one else? Will you answer me 
that, Miss Sefton ?” 

“ Yes,” came the quivering reply, in a choked, girlish 
voice, “ I do. If you had not detained me here I should 


“ I WOULD RATHER SEE YOU DEAD .’ 5 109 

now be the betrothed bride of a good and noble man, 
one who could never stoop to a dishonorable action, 
and whom I love with all my heart. Oh, sir, would it be 
of any use to plead with you to restore us to each other ? 
Mr. Rutledge Chester would reward you well for aiding 
me, I am sure.” 

The man started back as though an arrow had sud- 
denly pierced his heart. 

“ What ! ”he cried, fiercely, “ is Rutledge Chester the 
man you love — that man, above all other men, whom I 
have reason to hate so bitterly — the man that made me 
what I am, drove me from the ranks of honorable men by 
exposing me, and made me a hunted criminal on the face 
of the earth ? Restore you to him ? I would see you 
dead at my feet first ! Why, his very name rouses a very 
demon in my heart ! And to think that he should have 
crossed my path again — that he, of all others, should 
have won the love of the only being I have ever met 
whom I could care for. It is maddening ! 

“ I vowed once that I would pay him back, at a bitter 
cost, for what happened in the past. I see a way now to 
that very end. I bided my time. No, you shall never 
go free, save as my wife ! 

“ We are preparing to leave this place in the course 
of a month for a lengthy voyage, but you go with us. 
Remember, I would rather see you dead at my feet — in 
all your youth and your fair young beauty — than sec 
you Rutledge Chester’s bride !” 

He stood away from the door, his handsome face 
fairly livid with Satanic rage ; but his last words had 
fallen upon deaf ears. Verlie had fainted. 

“Was there ever such a tangled web woven by inexor- 
able fate ?” he muttered, twisting the ends of his mus- 
tache. “ She loves Rutledge Chester.” 


110 


BY THE ROADSIDE LAY A GIRL. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

CLOSE BESIDE THE ROADSIDE LAY A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG 

GIRL. 

In the intense darkness of the cavern, he did not 
see the slim, girlish figure that had followed him close to 
the door, and had listened, with bated breath and face 
pale as death, to every word that had been uttered. 

“ He cares for this beautiful stranger,” she muttered, 
with a dry, hard sob. “ Oh, what a rude awakening from 
my dream. I thought he loved me. His eyes said so 
even though his lips did not. I might one day have 
been his bride if this golden-haired girl had not come 
between us with her pretty face. Oh, fatal day for me 
that she was brought here !” 

Going around by another entrance, and passing 
through Hagar’s apartment, she found herself in Verlie’s 
presence. 

With swift steps she crossed the room and stood, with 
darkening brow, gazing down upon the prostrate figure 
the swinging lamp dimly revealed to her. 

Ah, the stranger was more beautiful than any poet’s 
dream, with her white, delicately-chiseled face, framed 
in its sheen of floating golden hair, upturned to the dim 
light. 

A bitter pang of jealousy smote the girl’s heart as she 
gazed. 

As if attracted by that magnetic gaze, Verlie’s white 
eyelids flutter open, and she looks up in dismay into the 
face bending over her. The next moment she has 


BY THE ROADSIDE LAY A GIRL. 


Ill 


s tmggl e d to her knees, clinging to the girl’s skirts with 
an agony of entreaty pitiful to behold. 

“ Will you help me to leave this place ?” she pleaded, 
frantically. “You are a young girl like myself. You 
must be tender of heart. I implore you to aid me. 
Restore me to my friends, and you shall be well re- 
warded for it. Think how they must suffer. It will 
break my poor father’s and mother’s hearts when they 
are told of my strange disappearance.” 

“You would not like to accept the alternative that 
would release you from this place ? You would rebel 
against wedding the man who brought you here?” the 
girl asked, breathlessly, a strange glitter in her eyes as 
she spoke. 

“ The very thought would drive me to madness,” 
moaned Verlie, with passionate vehemence. 

“ I will help you to leave this very night upon one 
condition,” ansvrered the girl, shortly. 

“And that?” whispered Verlie, breathlessly. 

“And that,” repeated the girl, in a hurried whisper, 
“ is that you take an oath of silence never to reveal this 
retreat, and never to mention to a living being what 
you have seen or heard from the fatal hour you chanced 
to witness that duel to this. I have a father and a 
brother here, and one whom I love better than life. 
For their sake I must exact a solemn vow of secrecy, or 
I dare not aid you. Don’t you see ?” 

“Yes,” said Verlie, huskily. “I can understand the 
situation, and for your sake I would vow eternal 
secrecy.” 

“You could say, without going far from the truth, 
that you were found with a sprained ankle, and taken 
care of until you were able to be about, and that, being 
delirious, your friends could not be communicated with. 


112 


BY THE ROADSIDE LAY A GIRL. 


You must make haste if you would escape to-night,” 
the girl went on, with a strange thrill of excitement in 
her voice, “ for it is almost daylight now.” 

She silenced the joyful cry on Verlie’s lips by saying, 
huskily : 

“You must wear my cloak and my broad hat. You 
can discard them, and leave them at the first bend in the 
road, beneath the tall oak there, and don your own. 
There is but one exit, and that leads through a room 
in which a number of the men are congregated. You 
must trust to your own bravery to pass you through 
that trying" ordeal ; it will be fraught with greatest dan- 
ger. If any one should call out to you or speak to you, 
make some excuse. Your voice is not unlike mine.” 

She threw her own dark waterproof cloak over Verlie, 
who noticed, as those slim hands touched her, how they 
trembled, and how death-cold they were. 

At last, Verlie, quivering with suppressed excitement, 
stood ready. She had given her solemn promise to that 
which her rescuer required. 

“ You will give me your name,” she whispered, “ that 
I may never cease to bless you for what you have done 
for me this night.” 

“You must know me only as Kelpie ; that is what 
they call me here. When you are home with your friends, 
when you are happy with him whom you love, you will 
sometimes think of me, will you not ?” she asked. “And 
whenever you think of Kelpie, forget her surroundings. 
Think of her kindly, and at her best. Go now,” she 
added, drawing her ice-cold hands from Verlie’s clasp. 
“ Follow that winding cavern to the end. That will be 
to freedom. Good-bye and may God speed you.” 

She threw the door open wide, and, like a storm-driven 
swallow, panting with fear at every step, Verlie flew 


BY THE ROADSIDE LAY A GIRL. 


113 


down the narrow, subterranean, winding passage. She 
had nearly reached the end of the passage, when, turn- 
ing a sharp curve, she found herself confronted by two 
men. 

Verlie’s heart seemed to contract with sudden fear. 
She dared not turn back, and a few feet more would 
bring her abreast of them. If they discovered her 
identity, all was lost. 

She nerved herself for the terrible ordeal. 

One of the men turned his head and saw her. 

“Why, Kelpie,” he said, approaching her, “ what in 
the world takes you out before daybreak ? What are 
you up to now ? Some mischief, I’ll be bound.” 

“ Only a walk,” replied Verlie, her heart palpitating 
so pitifully loud she was quite sure he must hear its 
beating, in her great anxiety and terror lest she failed 
to make her voice sound just like Kelpie’s. 

“Would you mind having company?” he asked, 
banteringly. 

She shook off his hand from her arm, and dashed past 
him before he could obtain a good view of her face. A 
moment more, and — oh, joy ! joy ! — she had emerged 
into the gray, dull, misty morning light ; the free air of 
heaven blew across her face. 

“ How strangely Kelpie acts,” said the man, gazing 
after the flying, slim, girlish figure. 

“ She has not been the same since the lovely, golden- 
haired little beauty was brought here,” laughed his com- 
panion. “ She’s afraid the captain has fallen in love 
with her ; and that’s just exactly what he’s done. It’s 
a pity, for poor Kelpie is so fond of him.” 

Both laughed and hurried on. 

Meanwhile, Verlie found herself once more in the old 
isolated cemetery, where the fatal accident had happened 


114 


BY THE ROADSIDE LAY A GIRL. 


which had led to such grave results. The swollen, 
sprained ankle, which had not had time to mend prop- 
erly, commenced paining again acutely, and by the time 
she had reached the main road, became so excrutiating 
that poor Verlie threw up her hands and fell, face down- 
ward, in the snow-drifts in a dead faint, with the name 
of Rutledge on her quivering lips. 

When the sun rose, pink and golden, over the eastern 
hills, it fell upon her upturned face, half vailed by the 
sweeping golden hair that trailed over the white drifts. 
Her hands were locked closely together, low moans 
issuing from her lips. 

A young man, driving hurriedly along, suddenly drew 
rein by the roadside, and gazed, with a cry of surprise 
on his lips. 

“ A young and beautiful girl !” he ejaculated, in great 
astonishment, as he leaped from his sleigh. “ What can 
she be doing here, I wonder ?” 

He touched the lovely little white hands gently. They 
were burning hot. Carefully he raised the slight figure, 
and placed it in his sleigh. 

“ It is clearly evident that I cannot leave her here/’ he 
mused. 

It seemed such a pity to take that fair young creature 
to a charity hospital. 

Then a sudden idea occurred to him. Why not take 
her home ? His mother, of all people in the world, 
would know just what to do for the beautiful, hapless 
young stranger. 

It was scarcely ten miles to his home, if he cut across 
lots, taking the by-ways. To reach it in a roundabout 
way by the road was over twice the distance. 

Turning his horse’s head, he gave the spirited animal 
a cut with his whip, and away they went spinning over 


BY THE ROADSIDE LAY A GIRL. 


115 


the white, crusted snow. Within an hour he had drawn 
rein before a fine country-house, sprung from the sleigh, 
and was hurrying up the broad gravel walk toward the 
door. 

A young girl, brown as a gypsy, who had been out on 
the side porch feeding the snow-birds, gave a slight 
scream. 

“ Oh, mother, mother! do come here, quick, and see 
what brother Dick has in his arms ! It looks like a cof- 
fin — no — it’s a young girl !” she exclaimed in breathless 
dismay. 

By this time Mr. Richard Temple had reached the 
curious young romp, who had bounded down the path 
to meet him, fairly bristling with curiosity. 

“ For mercy’s sake, whom have you got there, Dick ?” 
she cried, with great, wild, dilated eyes. “ Who in the 
world is that, and what’s the matter with her ?” 

“ Don’t ask so many questions, Edna !” exclaimed her 
brother, impatiently. “Run on to the house and open 
the door, and get mother; and run quick and see if 
there’s hot water, and blankets, and mustard, and pep- 
permint. Now, for goodness sake, don’t stand there 
staring, Edna, with your eyes and mouth wide open. 
Don’t you see this poor thing is nearly dead ? I don’t 
know what’s the matter with her.” 

“ Great goodness !” ejaculated Edna, with a low whis- 
tle. “ You don’t say so !” The gypsyish tom-boy always 
exasperated Mr. Temple. 

“Edna,” he cried, impatiently and sharply, “ will you 
run ahead to open the door or not ?” 

“ Of course,” gasped Edna, still staring with all her 
might at the slim figure he held in his arms. But, alas ! 
for Edna’s headlong haste — she never could be depended 
on in cases of emergency — with every step forward she 


116 


“SO PERISH ALL MY HOPE£.” 

slipped back two, and as Richard Temple crossed the 
porch he looked back just in time to see the black, curly 
head and a pair of heels scrambling out of a huge snow- 
drift, into which she had been precipitated headlong. 


CHAPTER XV. 

“ SO PERISH ALL MY HOPES AND MY BRIEF DREAM OF 
LOVE.” 

Mrs. Temple had caught a glimpse of her son from 
the window, and hurried to the door to open it for 
him. 

In a few brief words the son had explained the exact 
situation of affairs. 

“Of course, you acted for the best, as you supposed, 
in bringing her here, Richard, ” she said ; “ but I have 
always been just a little dubious about taking in stran- 
gers. I hope it will turn out well and she glanced at 
the eager, flushed face of her handsome young son. 

The lady would have been better pleased if the 
stranger had been less fair to look upon. 

“ Dick is young, and youth is always impressible,” 
she thought, as she led the way to a cozy morning-room ; 
“ who knows but what it may end in his falling in love 
with her.” 

That thought sent a thrill of terror to Mrs. Temple’s 
heart. 

Dick had deposited his lovely burden on the divan, 
and his mother had taken charge of her, hastening to 
remove her hat and throw off the dark cloak. She put 


117 


“SO PERISH ALL MY HOPES.” 

back the fair, curling hair from the lovely face, and as 
she did so a startled cry fell from her lips. 

“ Why, Dick, I know this young girl !” she exclaimed. 
“You must telegraph Senator Chester and his wife at 
once ; it is one of the young ladies who have been stop- 
ping at their house for the last month or so. You have 
heard of the two school-girls — the brunette and the 
lovely little blonde who have caused such a furore in 
social circles lately. This is the petite little blonde — 
lovely Verlie Sefton. You must go over to the way- 
station and telegraph Mrs. Chester at once. There 
must have been an accident — a runaway ; her ankle is 
badly sprained.” 

And this was the mysterious telegram which puzzled 
Mrs. Chester quite a little when she received it, and 
which took her post haste to Mrs. Temple’s, the home 
of her old friend. 

Mrs. Chester’s intense surprise and joy upon behold- 
ing Verlie can better be imagined than described. She 
would have taken her home at once, but it was deemed 
advisable for the sprained ankle to remain perfectly 
inactive for a day or so. Then it would be as good as 
new ; the sprain, though painful, was slight, after all. 

Mrs. Chester concluded to give Rutledge and Uldene 
a complete surprise, by not telegraphing — not letting 
them know what a startling surprise she had for them. 

How amazed they would be when she entered, lead- 
ing Verlie by the hand. Ah ! how happy Rutledge 
would be — her darling boy, who loved beautiful, golden- 
haired Verlie so well ! 

In the excitement of accounting for her absence — as 
she had solemnly promised — she had not mentioned that she 
had left the house in company with Uldene , and Mrs. Chester 
never dreamed of questioning her closely. 


118 


“SO PERISH ALL MY HOPES.” 

And there was another subject upon which the sena- 
tor’s wife was reticent ; she knew Verlie was by far too 
coy and bashful to discuss a love affair with her — Rut- 
ledge’s mother. 

While we leave Mrs. Chester and Verlie journeying 
homeward — all unprepared for the shock they are to 
meet there — we will return to the events which have 
been transpiring since that fatal night on which, for 
better or for worse, Uldene and Rutledge Chester were 
wedded. 

We will go back, dear reader, to that weird and 
solemn death-bed marriage. 

It was a pitiful sight to see the white face lying back 
against the pillow, the white hands clinging to the 
strong hands that held them, and the great, dark, won- 
drous eyes, half vailed by the long, silken, curling 
lashes, gazing with a world of love in them into the 
white, handsome, sorrowful face bending over her. 

“ My — wife,” he says, in a choked, hard voice. 

Those were the words she had said she wanted to 
hear last on earth — but somehow they hurt him. He 
had dreamed of the hour when he should say those 
words to another — lovely, golden-haired Verlie, whom he 
loved with all the mad, passionate love of his heart, and 
whom he had pictured many a day as his bride. 

In a single hour the face of heaven and earth had 
changed for him. And oh ! — how strange a fate — he 
was breathing those sacred words, my wife , over another 
— an unloved bride. 

“ Hold my hands clasped closely,” the girl murmured, 
in gasping terror. “ I — I am slipping away from life — 
clasp my hands until all is over. It will be but a few 
brief moments. Heaven has been kind to me,” whis- 
pered the quavering voice. “ I shall die looking on your 


119 


“SO PERISH ALL MY HOPES.” 

face. I am dying, and I may tell you now how I have 
loved you,” she went on with all the unconscious pathos 
of a little child. “ I should never have told you this, but 
I am dying — ” 

“ Poor Uldene !” he murmured, pityingly. “ Poor 
child !” 

A great wave of sorrow sweeps over his heart. He 
holds the little, death-cold hands closer, and watches the 
lovely, despairing face that grows whiter and whiter with 
each struggling breath. 

The hush grows deeper. There is the silence of death 
in the room. The housekeeper buries her head in the 
white counterpane and sobs bitterly. The consulting 
doctors look significantly and gravely at each other, and 
turn their faces away. 

Slowly the white, heavy-fringed eyelids commenced 
to fall over the dark, wistful, glazed eyes, shutting out 
the face she had loved so well — only Heaven above knew 
how well. 

A great wave of infinite pity filled Rutledge Chester’s 
heart. Poor Uldene ! how much she had cared for 
him ! 

He bent his handsome head over her, and pressed his 
warm lips to the cold, white, clammy ones. It was the 
first caress and the last he would ever give her in life. 
She would sink into the sleep of death with that kiss 
trembling on her lips. 

“ Uldene ! — my bride !” he murmurs again, an com- 
passionate pity. But mark the wondrous change that 
lights up the marble face upon which the cold death-dew 
stands. That kiss and the sound of the voice she loved 
so dearly has drawn her soul back from the dark valley 
of the shadow of death — back to life and the world from 
which she was slipping. 


120 


“SO PERISH ALL MY HOPES.” 

The tide goes out with a dreary wash, but it does not 
bear Uldene’s soul out with it. The doctors bend for- 
ward with a cry of surprise, used as they are to sur- 
prises. 

The film breaks slowly away from the eyes that never 
leave Rutledge Chester’s white, handsome, startled face. 

A faint tinge spread over the clammy brow and the 
pale lips that Rutledge Chester, in his infinite pity, has 
pressed with a last good-bye caress. The pulse-beat 
grows more distinct — the chilled heart flutters ever so 
faintly. 

“ It is my opinion that your bride will live , Mr. Ches- 
ter,” whispered the doctor. “ Those timely words and 
that kiss called her back from the grave,” he said, 
solemnly. 

Like one in a dream, Rutledge Chester lifts his hag- 
gard face. Had he heard aright, or were his senses 
playing him false ? 

“ It is quite true,” repeated the doctor, cheerfully. 
“I am pleased to tell you that your bride will live.” 

He had not loved her, yet a strange thrill of thank- 
fulness shot through his heart as he looked down into 
the beautiful face. 

The great, dark, slumbrous eyes sought his with a 
look of entreaty piteous to behold. 

“ You are sorry, Rutledge ?” she gasped, faintly. 

“ No, Uldene,” he whispered, with deep feeling, “ I 
thank Heaven your young life has been spared.” 

The doctor touched Rutledge lightly on the arm. 

“ She needs rest and quiet now. After a good sleep 
there will be a marked improvement in her condition. 
I will watch alone by her bedside an hour more.” 

The occupants of the room rose slowly and quitted 


121 


“SO PERISH ALL MY HOPES.” 

the appartments so lately clouded by the brooding 
shadows of death. 

With slow, unsteady steps, Rutledge Chester sought 
the library and shut himself in. 

Never was a man caught in such a web by the strange 
machinations of fate — wedded to one woman, while 
every pulse-beat of his heart throbbed with love for 
another. To him the present was full of misery and 
the future all dark. 

A prince might have been proud to woo and win 
beautiful Uldene, with her wondrous dower of beauty, 
for his bride. She would have charmed any man with 
her divine loveliness. Perhaps out of the whole wide 
world this man who had married her was the only one 
who could have looked upon her without emotion. 

A sense of the cruel wrong that a loveless marriage 
would be to her came over Rutledge, but it could not 
be helped. 

He had often heard and read of the idolatrous love of 
women, but surely there never was such a fatal, unfortu- 
nate, pathetic love as that which filled the heart of 
beautiful, hapless Uldene. 

He had given Uldene his name, but he could never 
give her his heart. He had none to give. His heart 
had passed out of his keeping the first moment he had 
looked into the eyes of Verlie. 

But he must put all thoughts of Verlie away from him 
now, henceforth and forever. He arose and took from 
his writing-desk a little glove, a bit of ribbon and a 
faded blossom, and laid them sorrowfully on the blazing 
coals of the grate. 

A moment more and only the ashes remained. 

“ So perish my hopes and my brief dream of love,” 
he said. 


122 


THE YOUNG BRIDE. 


Yet, even in that moment of bitter despair, he could 
hot find it in his heart to curse the fate that fettered 
him — until death parted them — to Uldene, whose great, 
worshipful love won from him the profoundest pity. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE YOUNG BRIDE. 

“In thy dear arms methought life would recover 
Its vanished joys — I’d live again for thee ; 

Yet we must part — our happy dream is over, 

Farewell, farewell, dear love ; ’twas not to be !” 

Nearly a week had passed since that weird midnight 
marriage, and Uldene was convalescing slowly. 

In that time Rutledge Chester tried his best to be 
most tender and devoted to the beautiful girl-bride that 
fate had thrust upon him in so strange a manner. 

“ You are not sorry that I lived, are you, Rutledge ?” 
she often asked, raising those wondrous dark, starry 
eyes to his face. 

His answer was always a grave, “ No, Uldene.” 

She had spoiled his future ; but he could not grudge 
this fair child her sweet young life. She was only a 
child — a thoughtless child of seventeen — and how was 
she to realize what he foresaw, that this impulse which 
bound him to her, without love, could never bring hap- 
piness ? 

Rutledge promised himself that, even though he did 


THE YOUNG BRIDE. 


123 


not love Uldene, she should never find him wanting in 
kindness and tender consideration. 

He was startled— nay, pained — at Uldene’s worshipful 
love for himself. He saw the beautiful face flush and 
the dark eyes brighten at his approach ; the little white 
hands fluttered and trembled if by chance he happened 
to clasp them a moment in his own ; and he could 
plainly hear the wild throbbing of her heart. 

Uldene,” he said, one day, “ it is quite a week since 
mother went away. She must soon return. How sur- 
prised she will be when she learns what has transpired 
during her absence !” 

He was hardly prepared for the cry of terror that 
burst from the girl’s white lips. His mother ! Ah, in 
her supreme happiness, she had almost forgotten the 
very existence of his mother. Uldene clung to him, 
with a look of fear on her face that he never forgot 
while his life lasted. The very winds moaning outside 
seemed to repeat the horrible words she had heard his 
mother utter that memorable night when she quite 
believed herself to be alone : “ Thank God, my son 

was not fated to love beautiful, hapless Uldene ! Yes, 
thank God, it was not Uldene !” 

What if his mother should show Rutledge that fatal 
letter, and it should part them ! Ah ! better that she 
had died when she was so near eternity than that ! 

“ Oh, Rutledge !” she whispered, “ what if she should 
be very angry that you had married me ! What should 
you do? Tell me what you would do,!” 

“ I would do nothing,” he said, gravely. “ But, then,” 
he added, hastily, “you should not imagine such a thing 
possible. I know she loves you well, Uldene.” 

“ Not as a daughter !” she murmured, piteously. 
“ She would not have wished you to marry me,” 


124 


THE YOUNG BRIDE. 


She looked up wistfully into his face, all the love that 
filled her heart shining in her dark, tearful eyes. 

Heaven help him. He hated himself. He knew that 
he should have taken her in his arms, whispered loving 
words to her, and kissed the smiles back to her pretty, 
dimpled, dismayed face to comfort her, but he could 
not. A fair, sweet face, framed in a sheen of golden 
hair, and a pair of eyes like blue hyacinths, floated 
between them, leaving his heart colder than marble. 

“ Oh, Rutledge,” she went on, with a great, tearless 
sob, “what if she should try to part us?” 

“Try to part us, Uldene !” he said, slowly, endeavor- 
ing to speak carelessly, even though his whole frame 
trembled and his lips grew pale. “Why should you 
imagine that ?” 

She did not answer him, but clung to him with death- 
cold hands. 

“ You would not like to be parted from me,” he said, 
almost frightened at the intensity of her love. “ Sup- 
pose Heaven should take me from you, what then?” 

He never forgot, through all the after years of bitter 
pain, the face she raised to his. 

“ If we were ever parted from each other, I should go 
mad,” she whispered. “ I would not die, for I could not 
rest in my grave. Oh, Rutledge, to lose you would be 
more bitter than death.” 

He was (touched inexpressibly by the pathos of her 
voice and face. He caressed the dark, curly head, and 
the little, white hands lying clasped in his own. 

Poor child ! What a world of love she had lavished 
upon him, all in vain. He would have loved her if he 
could. But, alas ! love goes where God sends it. And 
Heaven willed that he should love another, quite as 
hopelessly as poor Uldene loved him. 


THE YOUNG BRIDE. 


125 


“Uldene,” he said, thoughtfully, “ I am the last one to 
preach on such subjects ; but do you think it wise for 
any one to become so engrossed in their love as that ?” 

“ There are some natures that cannot help it,” she 
replied, “ and mine is one of them. I could not imagine 
anything so terrible as losing you. My reason would 
fail me, like a poor girl’s did in a story I once read, and 
the dreary mad-house where they would take me would 
never cease echoing with your name. If you died first, 
Rutledge,” she went on, in a sobbing whisper, “ I would 
come and kneel upon your grave, and there my poor 
heart would break. They would find me lying dead 
upon your grave. When all that made life worth living 
was gone, how could I live ?” 

Rutledge Chester bent his handsome head, and kissed - 
the beautiful, quivering red lips in pity too great for 
words. It was the first and last kiss he ever gave her 
voluntarily, and the memory of it always lived in 
Uldene’s passionate, undisciplined heart. Her face grew 
radiant at this unexpected indication of his tenderness. 

And in that moment the thought was passing through 
his mind that he might have loved this hapless child in 
time if his heart had not long since gone out to another. 
No man’s heart is large enough to hold two loves. 

„ When mother returns, and you are strong enough, we 
will go abroad,” he said. “ You will like that, Uldene ?” 

For answer, the dark, curly head nestled against his 
shoulder, and she raised those lovely dark eyes, with a 
beaming light in them, to his face. 

There was this great charm about Uldene : She 
possessed, in a most wonderful degree, the gift of fas- 
cination. The very touch of those little white hands 
was a subtle caress. 

Rutledge felt the charm. He was but human ; and, 


126 


THE YOUNG BRIDE. 


though she was not the darling of his heart — the one he 
loved and would have chosen for his bride — he could 
not resist the power of her affection. And yet the very 



lavishness of the love she gave him tired him. His belief 
had always been that the fair sex should be wooed, and 
never lose the charm of their delicacy by being wooers. 


THE YOUNG BRIDE. 


127 


“ You will think the matter over, Uldene,” he said, as 
he arose to quit the room, “ as to where you wish to 
go.” 

“ We will go anywhere you like, Rutledge,” she said. 
“I can be happy anywhere — with you.” 

Those were the words he took with him from the pink 
and gold boudoir down to the library. 

He was too much engrossed in his own thoughts to 
hear the commotion in the corridor. A moment later 
some one turned the knob of the door and flung it open, 
and raising his head, he beheld his mother standing on 
the threshold, and beside her — ah, was he mad or dream- 
ing ! — beside her stood Verlie ! He uttered a mighty 
cry of rapturous delight as he sprang forward ; then the 
cry froze on his lips ; his strong arms fell to his side in 
a convulsive shudder, and he stood in the middle of the 
floor as if rooted to the spot. 

In a few, brief words Mrs. Chester explained the 
accident that had happened to Verlie, as she herself 
understood it. Rutledge listened like one dazed. 

“ I have brought her back to you, my boy,” said Mrs. 
Chester, leading Verlie up to where Rutledge stood, and 
placing her little, tremulous hand in his. “ She knows 
how dearly you love her, Rutledge. I have told her all. 
I will leave you together,” she said, archly, “ while I go 
in search of Uldene. What wonderful news this will be 
to her.” 

Before Rutledge could find his voice the door was 
closed softly, and he was alone with Verlie — the one love 
of his heart — the sweet-faced, blue-eyed darling he loved 
better than life itself, and who was parted from him 
now as effectually as though one of them lay in the 
grave. 


128 


THE YOUNG BRIDE. 


Verlie could not understand the curious whiteness 
that overspread his handsome, haggard face. 

She had pictured so often what her meeting with 
Rutledge would be like, but never — oh, never — had she 
pictured anything like this. She was frightened at the 
fierce, desperate, despairing look in his face. What 
could it mean ? She was frightened and dismayed. 

He knew what his mother meant when she left him 
alone with Verlie. She would not stay to see the rap- 
turous lover’s greeting between his bashful love and 
himself. Ah, could she have dreamed of the long story 
he had to tell Verlie. There was nothing for it but to 
tell her the whole truth. 

Yet he longed, with all the longing of his soul, to hear 
from Verlie’s lips first the acknowledgement — she cared 
for him. In all the years of his after-life those words 
would live in his heart. A few words were not much 
to feed a hungry, yearning heart, but it would be a bit- 
ter-sweet thought to him to know Verlie cared for him, 
and that he might have won her if cruel fate had not 
torn them asunder. 

He knew that he should have resisted the temptation 
to draw from her lips the words, “ I love you, Rut- 
ledge,” when that love could never be realized ; but he 
was only human, and in this hour he was parting from 
her forever ; and he loved her better than life itself. 


/ 


A NOBLE HEART. 129 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A NOBLE HEART. 

Had we never loved sae kindly, 

Had we never loved sae blindly, 

Never met or never parted, 

We had ne’er been broken-hearted ! 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! 

Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 

Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 

Peace, enjoyment, love and pleasure ! 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ! 

Ae fareweel — alas ! — forever. 

Robert Burns. 

Rutledge Chester steps forward, his handsome face 
paling and flushing. But before he can utter the fatal 
words that spring from his heart to his lips, the door is 
dashed violently open, and Mrs. Chester, white as a 
ghost, staggers into the room, followed by the fright- 
ened housekeeper. 

“ Rutledge !” she cries out in an awful voice of sup- 
pressed agony, “ tell me, is this thing I hear true? Oh, 
my God, I cannot believe it ! It is too horrible ! Mrs. 
Pierce tells me that in my absence you married Uldene 
Sefton.” 

He answers his mother, but he turns his pale, haggard 
face, full of entreaty, to the golden-haired girl standing 
by his side. 


130 


A NOBLE HEART. 


“ It is quite true, mother,” he said, huskily. “ Uldene 
is my wife. I will tell you — ” 

The sentence was never finished. Mrs. Chester fell 
prone upon the velvet carpet like one turned to stone. 

As for Verlie — ah, who shall describe the terrible pain 
that smote her heart, more cruel than a dagger’s thrust, 
as she heard those words. The room seemed to whirl 
around her, her face grew pale as death, and the light 
died from her eyes. Her senses were confused. Her 
whole soul was steeped in the horror of dull despair. It 
was her sentence of death. It was the warrant that cut 
her off from all that was bright and beautiful in life. 
Her timid, girlish heart had gone out to Rutledge 
Chester in all the freshness and sweetness of first love, 
and now, her heart — at one great, awful throb — broke 
in her breast. So it seemed to her. 

Verlie Sefton was no tragedy queen. She did not cry 
out or utter any moan. Looking into her lovely pale 
face, Rutledge could not tell how deeply and pitifully 
the fatal truth had affected her ; but in the slight shiver 
that swept over her form — like a chill winter blast on a 
tender flower — he read the sweet possibilities of “ what 
might have been .” He knew the truth. She cared for 
him. 

There was little time to speculate over this matter 
now, for the servants were hurriedly flocking to the 
library, alarmed at the unusual commotion, uttering 
terrified cries as their eyes fell upon the prostrate figure 
of their mistress. 

With tender hands they raised her, and bore her to 
her own boudoir ; and in the confusion Verlie slipped 
from the room and sought Uldene. 

She groped her way, like one stricken blind, up the 
broad stairway, and down the long corridor, odorous 


A NOBLE HEART. 


131 


with the breath of blossoms, until she stood before the 
pretty apartment she had shared with Uldene ; but 
Uldene was not there. She heard the sound of her 
voice a little way on in the conservatory, and thither she 
went ; and there, standing in the midst of a mass of 
scarlet passion flowers, she saw Uldene. 

“ Uldene !’* she called, softly — “ Uldene !” 

The little white hands that held the scarlet blooms 
dropped them ; the dark head was lifted from the flow- 
ers, and Verlie saw a look of swift terror cross her sis- 
ter’s face. 

“ How strange it is, waking or sleeping, when he is 
with me or alone, I am haunted by her voice. She comes 
to me in the dead of the night, standing before me in the 
moonlight, with her face pale as death, her fair hair fall- 
ingin disheveled masses about it, crying out in an awful 
voice : 4 Uldene ! Uldene ! beware God’s vengeance ! 

You have stolen my love from me, you have sown my 
heart with thorns, but you shall reap the harvest ! Take 
care ! Beware !” 

Uldene put out her white hands with a gesture of 
defiance, mumuring, brokenly : 

“ Why should I be haunted with such visions? I 
have won him. I loved him better than she ever 
could. Such a nature as Verlie’s is incapable of a great 
love.” 

In that hour she forgot the cruel treachery that put 
Verlie out of her path, and that led to her present happi- 
ness. She remembered only her own love, and its suc- 
cess. The love she had coveted was now hers ; her 
hopes gratified. The cup she had craved for was filled 
to the brim. She, instead of Verlie, was Rutledge 
Chester’s bride. 

Again from over the nodding crimson roses she heard 


132 


A NOBLE HEART. 


the sound of her name, softly, yet more distinct this 
time. She became aware that some one was putting 
aside the green branches and coming toward her. 
One glance, then the awful whiteness of death came 
over her. 

“ Am I mad ? or do I dream ?” she gasped. “ Verlie’s 
ghost has come back from the grave to haunt me !” 

A horrible darkness seemed closing in around her, and 
the world seemed to slip from her. 

Another instant and Verlie had sprung to her side, 
catching the swaying form in her arms. 

But Uldene did not swoon, terrible as the shock had 
been. 

“ I am no ghost, Uldene, ” she whispered, caressing the 
dark, curly head. “ I know how you mourned for me 
I can imagine what your feelings must have been when 
you returned and found me gone. You thought, with 
them, that I must have recovered in your absence and 
started for home. Is it not so ?” 

Uldene nodded. The power of speech seemed to have 
left her. 

“ I was taken charge of by poor and honest people, 
who found me. I came back to you as soon as I could. ” 

The color rushed back to Uldene’s deathly pale face, 
and the blood began to circulate about her heart. 

Ah ! some one had rescued Verlie, then, and her sis- 
ter (she still called her that) did not know that she had 
left her to her fate — left her to recover or die alone 
amidst the snow-drifts in the isolated church-yard. 

'“I have come back to you, Uldene,” whispered the 
soft, wistful voice, “ and the first thing I hear, quite as 
soon as I cross the threshold, is that you are — you are — 
married, Uldene, and — to him. Tell me my darling — I 
— I cannot quite credit it — is it true?” 


A NOBLE HEART. 


133 


“Yes,” replied Uldene. “I am his wife, Verlie. You 
remember the — the — letter you received on that night, 
Verlie ?” she went on, quivering with suppressed, intense 
excitement “What a terrible mistake came near being 
made ! It was intended for 7ne , Verlie ; not for you, 
dear. It was not you whom he loved, Verlie, dear, but 
me.” 

A strange quiet fell upon Verlie. The few artful 
words had their effect. The sound of Uldene’s voice fell 
upon her ear like a sound from a distance. Verlie’s 
faithful heart was wounded nigh unto death, but she 
made no sign. She longed to be alone, and think how 
much Rutledge Chester’s mistake had cost her, and 
weep her heart out in secret over her broken love- 
dream. 

“How vain and foolish I was to think he cared for 
me,” thought the poor girl. “ It is well that no one 
dreams that I love him,” she thought. “ I am thankful 
that fate spared me from coming to him in the conser- 
vatory that night.” 

By a mighty effort she put all thought of self from 
her, and tried to rejoice in Uldene’s happiness. 

All her life she had been accustomed to give up to 
beautiful Uldene in all things. She loved this beauti- 
ful, spoiled, dark-eyed creature, whom she believed to 
be her sister, with a love that was almost idolatrous. 
She would have given her bright young life — had it been 
the price — to save Uldene’s. 

“You are happy in his love, Uldene ?” she said, wist- 
fully ; “ let me hear you say so, dear.” 

“ I am more happy than I can tell you, Verlie,” she 
answered, raising those dark, starry eyes to the blue 
ones, so heavy with unshed tears. “ I love hin so well 


134 


A NOBLE HEART. 


that if I were to lose him it would kill me, or I should 
lose my reason.” 

From that moment heroic, noble Verlie put all thoughts 
of Rutledge Chester from her. What it cost her, only 
Heaven and the listening angels knew, who heard her 
pitiful prayers for strength and saw her despairing 
tears. 

But even then — even at the cost of her own misery — 
she was glad Uldene was happy ; that thought was her 
one consolation in those bitter hours of anguish when 
she fought such pitiful battles with her own heart — to 
crush out the love that had built its altar there. 

How she longed to go away — to creep back to the shel- 
ter of the old light-house — fling herself on her mother’s 
breast and die there. Oh, fatal was the hour in which 
she had drifted away from that lonely island home, out 
into the great, hard world, where she had met the hero 
of her girlish day-dreams, handsome Rutledge Chester, 
and learned to love him. 

When Mrs. Chester was removed to her room and a 
physician summoned, it was discovered that she had 
been stricken with a severe fit of apoplexy — partly par- 
alysis, induced by some great mental shock. 

“ There was no hope,” the doctor said, and advised 
them to send for Senator Chester without delay ; but 
this was impossible, for, only a few days previous, the 
senator had been called suddenly abroad by a very im- 
portant affair of the State, and it would be quite a week 
yet before he reached port and found the cablegram 
awaiting him, apprising him of his wife’s sudden and 
dangerous illness. 

If the worst came, all would be over before he could 
possibly reach home. 

When Uldene heard of Mrs. Chester’s arrival, half faint- 


THEY WEEE NOT ALONE. 


135 


ing with fear, she made her way to her room to beg 
her to keep her terrible secret. She was met with the 
startling news that when she had heard of her son’s 
marriage she had dropped to the floor like one dead ; 
and from that moment she had lost speech and action — 
that never again would those lips speak ; they were 
stricken dumb forevermore. A terrible cry fell from 
Uldene’s lips, for she knew why — ah, she knew why. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THEY WERE NOT ALONE, AS THEY BELIEVED A PANTING, 

QUIVERING FIGURE, HIDDEN BY THE VELVET CURTAIN, 
SEES AND HEARS ALL. 

“ Perchance if we had never met, 

I had been spared this vain regret ; 

And yet I could not bear the pain 
Of never seeing thee again.” 

• 

Again the dark shadow of death spread its dark wing 
over the Chester mansion. The servants moved about 
silently and with bated breath. 

Rutledge and the doctor watched unceasingly at her 
bedside. Every one else, save the faithful old house- 
keeper and nurse, was carefully excluded. 

“ My services are of no avail, except to make the suf- 
ferer a little more comfortable,” the doctor said, frankly. 
“ She can last but a little while longer.” 

Dead her body was already, so far as power to move 
was concerned ; but her mind was apparently unim- 


136 


THEY WERE NOT ALONE. 


paired, and expressed itself in the agonized expression 
of her face and the entreating, beseeching, scared, trou- 
bled look of the dim eyes that never for a moment 
left the face of her idolized son, as though there was 
something she was constantly and vainly trying to com- 
municate to him. 

“ You have something to say to me, mother,” he said, 
at length. “ Would to Heaven you could tell me what 
it is !” 

Oh, how hard the lips tried to articulate ; but they 
only quivered convulsively, and gave forth a little moan- 
ing sound. But in the lighting up of the eager eyes, 
which grew larger, and brighter, Rutledge thought he 
read an answer to what he had said — that she had some- 
thing on her mind which she was vainly trying to com- 
municate to him. As death drew nearer the agony of 
the expression in the eyes that never left Rutledge’s face, 
and seemed at times to almost leap from their sockets in 
horror, deepened. 

What was troubling his mother so, forcing out great 
drops of perspiration about her lips and forehead, mak- 
ing her ghastly face pitiful to behold. 

Rutledge felt, sometimes, as if he would go mad, sit- 
ting there by her couch, with those wild eyes watching 
him so intently, that, if he moved away for a moment, 
they called him back by their strange power, and com- 
pelled him to look straight into their depths, where the 
unspeakable trouble lay struggling to free itself. 

“Mother,” he said again, “you wish to tell me some- 
thing, and you cannot. Perhaps I can guess what it is ; 
at least, I can try. If you answer my question in the 
affirmative, turn your eyes to the portrait of father hang- 
ing over the mantel ; if you mean no, look into my face 
as you are looking now. Do you understand ?” 


THEY WERE NOT ALONE. 


137 


There was a wan shadow of a joyous smile on the 
white, haggard face. Quick as thought the dying eyes 
turned to the portrait, which was the token of assent. 
He knew his mother comprehended. 

“ Is that which you have on your mind concerning 
father?” he asked. 

“ No.” For the steady gaze of the burning eyes never 
left his face. 

“ About property ?” he questioned. 

Still the mournful gaze was riveted on his face. It 
was not that. 

“ Is it concerning me, mother ?” he asked, earnestly. 

Quick as a flash of lightning, the dilated eyes traveled 
to the portrait on the wall. Ah, yes ! What she wished 
to say concerned himself. 

In vain he mentioned everything in the range of his 
thoughts. Evidently he had not yet discovered what it 
was. 

He could not bear the unspeakable .agony of those 
eyes as question after question was answered by that 
silent “ No.” 

“ Is it something connected with any paper in your 
private safe, mother ?” he asked, at length, in despair, 
never dreaming that it was. To his unspeakable aston- 
ishment the eyes traveled quickly to the portrait. 

“ If that is the case,” he said, delighted to have 
touched the subject that was troubling her at last, “ I 
will bring each and every paper I find in your safe to 
your bedside, and I shall soon discover which document 
it is that you wish me to see or read, and we shall soon 
decide what can be done about it.” 

The eyes fairly danced now. He could see the pupils 
dilate and the color deepen in them, as though what he 
had proposed doing relieved her mind infinitely. 


138 


THEY WERE HOT ALONE. 


Rutledge arose hurriedly and walked over to the safe, 
which stood in the curtained alcove, and in a moment 
more returned with every paper he found in it. One by 
one he laid them before her, until the very last paper 
w r as reached. 

Something like horrible despair shone in the wild eyes 
raised to his own. 

He went to the safe and made another careful search, 
to see that no document had slipped behind the trays. 

“ There is no other paper in the safe, mother,” he said, 
returning to the bedside. “Are you sure the document 
you wished me to see was put in the safe ?” 

The eyes fairly leaped from their sockets to the por- 
trait with an emphatic “ Yes,” while great drops of agony 
rolled like rain drops down the ghastly cheeks. 

“ If you are sure you put the paper there, there is but 
one conclusion to arrive at,” he said. “ Some one must 
have removed it who knew of it, and was interested in it.” 

Of course, Rutledge had his father in his thoughts as 
he spoke. He was not prepared for the terrible and 
sudden change that came over his mother. The horrible 
shock was too much for her. 

“ Oh, God, that the thought must remain unbroken, 

And the horrible secret remain unspoken, 

By the swift and subtle seal of death.” 

With one mighty gasp, the soul was suddenly rent 
from its tenement of clay. She fell back upon the pillow 
— dead. 

We will draw a vail, dear reader, over the scenes that 
followed during the next fortnight. 

Mrs. Chester was laid to rest in the marble tomb of 
the Chesters, and the terrible revelation she had tried so 
hard to make was buried with her. 


THEY WERE NOT ALONE. 


139 


It may as well be stated here, that the contents of 
that fatal letter had not been made known ' to the 
senator, because Nella Sefton had desired it so. 

Only Heaven could have told how the dying woman 
regretted, on her death-bed, that she had not made a 
confidant of her husband, that he, in turn, might have 
warned her idolized, handsome son, of the fatal barrier 
that lay between him and beautiful, hapless Uldene, 
the girl-bride, whom fate had decreed must never love, 
for she must never marry. 

During those hours Rutledge Chester sat by his 
mother’s couch, he had imagined himself alone with her ; 
but such was not the case. He was never alone with her! 

Behind the velvet hangings of the bed crouched a 
girlish figure, who listened, with bated breath, to every 
word that fell so musically from Rutledge’s Chester’s 
lips. 

It was Uldene — his bride. 

She knew what paper the dying mother longed so 
ardently to place in her son’s hands. Uldene knew, too, 
that he would not find the paper — Mark Sefton’s letter 
— in the safe ; for at that moment it was hidden in her 
own bosom, against her own wildly throbbing heart. 

The situation was cruel. But in the hour of Mrs. 
Chester’s death, Uldene cried out, in the secrecy of her 
own room, “that Heaven had spared her. If Rutledge’s 
mother had been given the power of speech, she would 
have divulged all, and that would have separated her 
from Rutledge forever.” 

“ I will take him far away from here,” she told her- 
self — “so far away that Mark and Nella Sefton can 
never find him, to write him of the heavy curse that 
was predicted to fall upon my head on my eighteenth 
birthday. And he shall never know, and we will be 


140 


THEY WERE NOT ALONE. 


happy. Yes, my great love will win like love from him 
in time, and earth can hold no greater heaven for me 
than that.” 

In that fortnight of bustle and confusion that passed, 
Rutledge Chester had seen but little of Verlie. He 
knew that she avoided him whenever it was possible. 
He was thankful for that • for in those dark, dreary 



hours he could not have resisted finding consolation 
with her, and breathing to her how lonely and desolate 
he was, had she been near. 

At the end of the fortnight Verlie said good-bye to 
them, and started for home. She was glad to creep 
back to the lonely old light-house, as the storm-driven 
swallow is glad to seek its nest under the eaves. 



THEY WERE NOT ALONE. 


141 


She came suddenly, unexpectedly, and unheralded, 
upon Mark and Nella, as they sat before the roaring 
wood fire one chilly spring evening. They did not hear 
the grating of the little boat as it touched the sand, for 
the thundering, continuous wash of the waves outside. 

Some one glided like a ghost across the floor ; a slen- 
der form slipped down on her knees before them ; and 
a piteous, sad, young voice breathed out sobbingly, as 
two great, blue-bells of eyes, swimming with tears, were 
raised to her mother’s face : 

“ Mother ! father ! your Verlie has come back to 
you !” 

Both sprang to their feet with joyous cries, but almost 
in the same breath they called for Uldene. 

“ Bring the lass in, Nella !” cried the cheery old light- 
house keeper. “ No doubt she is outside of the door, 
waiting to play some prank upon us, bless her pretty, 
roguish face ! “ Come in, Uldene, lass !” he roared, 

thumping his cane, while Nella flew to do his bidding. 

But Verlie called her back. 

“ She is not there, mother,” she said, gently. “ Uldene 
will never come to us again. She is a great lady now. 
Did you not receive the letter which she said she wrote 
to you, telling you that she had married Senator Ches- 
ter’s son, Rutledge ?” 

“ Married !” shrieked Nella Sefton, springing to her 
feet in the wildest agitation, while Mark grew pale as 
death. “ My God ! have I heard aright, child ? Did 
you say Uldene — had — married V' 

“ Yes, mamma,” said Verlie, raising her blue eyes in 
wonder to her mother’s frightened face. “ I said she 
had married Rutledge Chester.” 


142 


“she has wrecked my life!” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“ SHE HAS WRECKED MY LIFE !” 

The startling announcement of the marriage of beau- 
tiful Uldene, over whose head such an apalling, mys- 
terious shadow hung, filled the old light-house keeper 
and his wife with the greatest dismay and terror. 

They could not pardon themselves for their want of 
forethought in allowing this fatally lovely, ill-starred 
young girl, who had been left so strangely in their keep- 
ing, to visit at the magnificent home of the Chesters, 
where she would be brought in contact with the 
haughty, handsome son. 

Long and earnestly Mark Sefton and Nella talked the 
matter over, sitting by their cheerful wood fire long 
after Verlie had retired to rest. 

It was evident that Mrs. Chester had not divulged the 
fatal story, that darkened Uldene’s life so pitifully, to 
her son, or that marriage would never have been solem- 
nized — ah, never ! It would have parted them — torn 
them asunder as completely as though one of them lay 
in the grave. 

The question they discussed so earnestly was, should 
they reveal all to Uldene or not ? Why destroy the 
brightness of her gay young life by warning her of the 
doom her dying mother had foretold, and thus break 
the heart of the last daughter of a fated race ? 

No, no, they could not — they would not. Warnings 
were of little avail now ; the marriage had taken place, 
they were joined together for weal or woe while their 


“she has wrecked my life!’ 143 

lives lasted. It would be kinder by far not to reveal it 
to Uldene. It was past midnight when the light-house 
keeper’s wife took up her candle to seek her couch. 

Ah ! how good it seemed to the fond mother to have 
her darling child beneath the old home-roof once again. 

As she was passing Verlie’s room she paused a 
moment. Was it a sobbing cry or a moan that fell upon 
her startled ear ? She pushed the door open softly and 
entered. 

The moon’s rays, clear and bright, shone through the 
uncurtained window, bathing the pretty little chamber 
under the eaves in a flood of silvery light. It threw a 
tender, subdued glow upon the slender figure lying upon 
the couch. 

The lovely curls were tossed about the white pillow 
like a glistening vail of gold, and the little white hands 
were clenched tightly together. 

As Mrs. Sefton bent over her, the girl’s lips parted in 
a quivering sigh, and she murmured, pathetically : 

“ Oh, mother, mother ! I am so weary of life now ; 
the future is all dark. I loved Rutledge Chester so. 
Life is a living death to me without his love. Uldene, 
with her fatally beautiful face, came between us. Oh ! 
there was a time when he loved me best. I knew it. I 
felt it in my heart. God pity me ! Uldene has wrecked 
my life !” ^ 

The words trailed off in a piteous sob, and the sleeper 
tossed restlessly to and fro on her pillow. 

Like one turned to stone Nella Sefton had listened. 
She did not cry out, even though what she had dis- 
covered was the bitterest, most grievous shock she had 
ever experienced. Pressing her hands tightly over her 
heart, she groped her way from the room. The fair 
moonlight seemed to have been suddenly blotted out, 


144 


“she has wrecked my life!” 


and the room to have grown dark and chill. All the 
long hours of the night she never slept — her eyes never 
closed. 

“ The pitiful secret of Verlie’s love for the haughty 
handsome man who had wedded dark-eyed Uldene 
troubled her heart sorely ; and a half mad wish crossed 
her mind that she had never aided Mark in saving that 
child from the fury of the wild waves that never-to-be- 
forgotten night in the past— to break her own child’s 
heart in the after years. 

She knew that Verlie would rather die than reveal the 
pitiful secret that lay like a stone on her young heart. 
She was one of the kind who endure and suffer in 
silence. 

In the days that followed even Mark noticed how his 
idolized child was failing. 

“What do you suppose is the matter with Verlie, 
mother ?” the honest old light-house keeper asked at 
length. “ The lass creeps about the house like a 
shadow ; she is scarcely more than a ghost of her former 
self. We never hear her gay laugh, like the rippling 
murmur of a mountain brook, about the house. She 
never smiles now, and more than once, when I have 
come upon her unexpectedly, I have found her in 
tears. Do you think the lass is grieving her life out at 
being separated from Uldene, and because — since Uldene 
married the millionaire’s son — she never deigns to 
write to us ?” 

“ It would have been better for her if her path and 
Uldene’s had never crossed,” she cried out, so bitterly 
that the old light-house keeper looked up into her face 
aghast. 

“ Why do you say that, wife ?” he asked. 

But Nella turned away with a tearless sob and would 


' 6 SHE HAS WRECKED MY LIFE !” 


145 


vouchsafe him no answer. It was breaking her heart to 
watch her darling fade like a storm-blasted flower 
before her very eyes. She realized something must be 
done, and at once. Verlie must have change of scene 
and gay companions to win her over to forgetfulness. 

Mrs. Sefton never dreamed of the turbulent depths of 
love that lay beneath the calm exterior of this girl’s 
heart. She could never forget the dark, haughty, hand- 
some face of Rutledge Chester ; waking or sleeping it 
was always before her. In the hour of death his name 
would be on her lips. 

At this critical juncture a strange event happened 
that changed the current of Mark Sefton’s hitherto 
uneventful life. Years before, by the death of an older 
brother, Mark Sefton had become the possessor of a 
narrow strip of land in one of the wildest and most 
rugged portions of California. 

In vain Mark had endeavored to sell it ; no one could 
be found who would take the barren waste off his hands 
at even half the low price he had offered it at ; so, in 
despair, at last Mark ceased his attempts of trying to 
dispose of it, and for long years the strip of land was 
given up to neglect and riotous weeds. 

One day the following brief “ Personal ” met Mark’s 
eyes in one of the New York papers that had by chance 
found its way to isolated Black-Tor Light-House : 

“ A valuable vein of ore has been discovered upon land — said 

to belong to a Mr. Sefton — in E county, California. Parties 

having adjoining claims would like to negotiate with him as to 
purchase of same, through their attorneys, Messrs. Harris & 
Whitney, — Broadway, New York.” 

The honest old light-house keeper held the paper off 
at arm’s length and gazed at it in great astonishment. 


“she has wrecked my life !’ 5 


U6 


“ Ore found in that strip of wild land !” he gasped. 
“ It can’t be possible !” 

He lost no time in writing to the attorneys mentioned, 
one of whom came down in person in response, offering 
the old light-house keeper such a fabulous price for the 
bit of wild, rugged land that it fairly staggered him. 

And Mark, who had fought a relentless battle with 
stern poverty all his life long— who had known what 
privation and even want meant, and who had been 
worried times innumerable as to how he should make 
both ends meet from his slender income — suddenly 
found himself a wealthy man. 

“ I shall never leave the old light-house, Nella,” he 
declared. “I have spent the best years of my life here 
tending the light in the tower that guides the mariners 
on their way, and here I shall spend the rest. I could 
never live away from the sight and sound of the great, 
restless sea.” 

“You forget the duty we owe to our child,” said 
Nella, softly. “Think what an isolated, lonely home 
this would be for Verlie to spend the best and brightest 
years of her young life in. The sound of the sea, which 
is music to you, is horrible in its monotony to her. Age 
prefers quiet ? youth gayety. You ask me why Verlie 
has changed so of late, and I answer you : She misses 
the brilliant life she led while visiting at the home of 
the Chesters.” 

These words had more weight with Mark than all she 
had said previously. There was no sacrifice he would 
not have made for Verlie’s sake. 

When the subject was broached to Verlie the girl 
drew back with a bitter cry. Go out into the hard, 
cold world in which she had met him and learned to 
love him ? Ah, no, she could never do it. 


“she has wrecked my life!” 


147 


" It is not natural for a young girl to like an isolated 
life,” persisted her mother, smoothing back the shining 
golden curls from the white, lovely face. “You must 
take your place in the world as your father's heiress. 
You shall have balls and parties, coaches and horses, 
silks and jewels — all that the feminine heart holds dear 
— to win you back to happiness, Verlie, ,, she said, 
wistfully. 

“ Poor mamma !” sobbed the girl, flinging her white 
arms around her mother’s neck, “what makes you think 
I am not happy now?” 

Nella was strongly tempted to answer : “ Because I 

know your secret, my poor darling. I know that your 
heart is withering from unrequited love, as the flowers 
wither for the want of dew but she held her peace. 

In the gay, bright world, so full of noble men, Nella 
hoped that her darling might, in time, overcome the 
fancy she had entertained for handsome Rutledge Ches- 
ter, and learn to care for another, who would make 
her a good and true husband. 

It was settled at length that they should remove to 
Virginia ; and in the early spring they took possession 
of the beautiful villa that had been purchased in the 
suburbs of Richmond ; and that was the beginning, 
dear reader, of a most pitiful tragedy. 


148 ULDENE MET THE GAZE OF THE STRANGER. 


CHAPTER XX. 

ULDENE TURNED AND MET THE FIXED GAZE OF THE 
STRANGER BENT UPON HER. 

We must return now to Uldene. 

Four months had elapsed since that weird midnight 
marriage. The week following Mrs. Chester’s death, 
Rutledge had taken Uldene away from the desolate 
mansion, and it was closed up to await the orders of the 
absent senator. 

Two months of that time Rutledge and his bride had 
spent abroad. Then they had returned to Washington, 
taking up the thread of life at the gay capital. 

No one could have been kinder, more considerate, 
more thoughtful in his treatment of his young wife, than 
Rutledge Chester was. 

He studied her wishes, and met them almost before 
she had time to declare them. She never expressed 
either a hope or desire before him, but that it was at 
once, as far as lay in his power, gratified. Perhaps a 
sincere lover might not have studied her so much. It 
was the very consciousness that she had not the love of 
his heart which made him so entirely devoted to her, 
through pity’s sake. 

That was the way their wedded life commenced. But 
he was only human. He could not withstand the clasp 
of those lovely white arms around his neck, the velvety 
cheek pressed close to his, and those wondrous dark eyes 
gazing at him so fondly, while the rosebud lips mur- 
mured how dearly she loved him, without his heart 


TTLDENE MET THE GAZE OF THE STRANGER. 149 


warming toward her. Uldene’s great, passionate, won- 
derful love gradually won from him love in return. 

Praises of her peerless beauty were on every lip, and 
it pleased Rutledge’s vanity to know that of the whole 



world she cared only for him. Uldene became the 
reigning belle of the gay capital. Fashionable papers 
described her movements — told of the balls she attended, 
the operas she heard — and people raved about her. The 
dark, piquant Southern face won tribute from poet and 


150 ULDENE MET THE GAZE OF THE STRANGER. 

artist. She was so popular in the social world that peo- 
ple would even delay balls and parties in order to secure 
her attendance. Her dream was realized. The world 
lay at her feet. 

No one enjoyed her success or glorified in her triumph 
more than Rutledge Chester. He saw that she cared 
for no admiration but his. She never wished to attend 
the most brilliant fetes unless he was with her. No 
society had any charm for her save his. At any time 
she was only too happy to give up a ball or party to 
spend a quiet evening with him. 

“Ah, this was something worth living for, to be loved 
like this,” he often thought to himself. He told himself, 
too, that his love for golden-haired Verlie had faded 
into a sweet, broken dream, and that now his heart 
was in truth beautiful Uldene’s, who loved him so 
devotedly. 

The world saw with wonder this devoted and most 
unfashionable attachment of the young bride to her 
husband. 

“ No good can come from loving a man so much as 
that,” many said, nodding their heads sagely. “ Wait 
and see how it will end.” 

Uldene was happy — wildly, deliriously happy — but 
the conscience of this hapless girl was never at rest. 
She could see that she was very dear to Rutledge Ches- 
ter now, and terror thrilled her soul lest she should lose 
him. 

Her life was cursed with the thought that she had 
taken him from Verlie by deceit and fraud. Would not 
Heaven, in turn, punish her by taking him from her ? 

“ If we were ever parted, I should pray Heaven in that 
hour to strike me dead,” she often told herself, with a 
great, tearless sob. 


ULDENE MET THE GAZE OF THE STRANGER. 


151 


Her idolatrous love for Rutledge Chester was to be the 
sword which should slay her. 

Uldene had invited Edna Temple to visit her, and, full 
of delight at spending a few weeks at the gay capital, 
Edna had come down from her country home at once. 

Uldene was especially fond of this bright, saucy, 
piquant girl, whose acquaintance she had made through 
Verlie, who had been brought to the country home 
of the Temple’s on that memorable winter morning 
she had been found lying unconscious by the roadside. 

Rollicking Neddy — Neddy was the pet name given 
to Edna — kissed her friend rapturously. 

“ How funny it is to imagine you anybody’s wife,” she 
cried, breathlessly, as she was removing her wrap- 
pings. “ Why, you can’t be much older than I am, are 
you, Uldene ?” 

“ I shall be eighteen this month,” smiled Uldene, “and 
I’m sure that’s old enough to be ‘anybody’s wife,’ as you 
quaintly phrase it.” 

“ I don’t think so,” cried Neddy, tossing her curls. “I 
shouldn’t like to be tied down to any one person. I 
like going to balls, and parties, and theatres, and hav- 
ing a new beau for every occasion,” she declared, 
demurely. 

“You haven’t seen the right one yet,” laughed 
Uldene. “ When you do, you will sigh for that one, 
and that one only. The whole world will be nothing to 
you without him. It’s plain to be seen you’re not in love 
yet. Only wait till you are.” 

“Fiddlesticks!” cried Neddy, shrilly. “That’s all 
nonsense. I don’t believe a word of it. I should get 
tired and sick of seeing a man poking about the house 
forever. Now, there’s brother Dick. There’s always 
continual sparring between us whenever he’s in the 


152 ULDENE MET THE GAZE OF THE STRANGER, 

house. He’s provokingly uncivil. The Lord pity any 
girl unfortunate enough to get him.” 

“ A brother isn’t half as nice as a husband. You will 
tell me so some day,” declared Uldene, smiling down into 
the pretty, piquant face. 

But Neddw, with girlish obstinacy, whether assumed 
or real, would not be convinced upon this point. 

The two young girls (for Uldene was very girlish in 
spite of being a bride of four months standing) enjoyed 
themselves as only fun-loving girls, full of youth, spirit 
and vivacity, can. 

Each day saw them driving in the parks or boulevards, 
at a lawn fete or pleasure gathering. 

Rutledge Chester looked on in grave amusement. 
After all, his bride was as much of a child as fun-loving 
Neddy. So he made all allowances. 

Once the thought crossed his mind — How different a 
wife gentle, golden-haired Verlie Sefton would have 
made him. He sighed, and put the thought away from 
him as an unworthy one. Uldene loved him so pitifully 
well, it was cruelly wrong to give even one thought to 
another. 

One afternoon Uldene and Neddy had gone to the 
Art Academy together. There was to be an exhibition 
of rare pictures from the old masters. Tickets had been 
sent to a select few, and the affair promised to be a very 
enjoyable one. 

Neddy and Uldene stood by the western window of 
the academy, watching intently a picture upon which 
the slanting rays of sunlight fell. It represented a 
young and lovely girl clinging, in an agony too pitiful 
to be pictured by words, to a cold, gray cross, that 
seemed to rise like a monument out of the sand. At her 
feet flowed a dark, turbulent sea, whose angry, white- 


ULDENE MET THE GAZE OF THE STRANGER. 153 


capped waves threatened to sweep over the supplicating 
figure clinging so despairingly to the cross, — tear the 
white arms from their clinging hold and carry her on to 
destruction. 

Uldene gazed at the picture breathlessly, she could 
not tell why. 

Suddenly Neddy gave her a nudge. 

“ Dene,” she whispered, shrilly, under her breath, 
“who is that gentleman leaning against the marble pil- 
lar to the right of us ? For the last five minutes he has 
not taken his eyes off your face.” 

Uldene turned her dark eyes from the picture she was 
contemplating to the person indicated, and met the fixed 
gaze of the stranger bent upon her. 

What was there about this person, whom she had never 
met before, that fascinated her, made the blood creep 
chillily through her heart with a deadly sensation, like 
that which fills the heart of a fluttering dove that falls 
under the steady gaze of a serpent. The floor seemed 
to rock beneath her feet, the grand pictures in their 
gilded frames to whirl around her, and the air to grow 
dense and stifle her. 

“ I don’t know who he is, Neddy,” she said, faintly. 
“ I do not like being stared at so rudely. Let us go — 
let us leave the place.” 

They moved with the dense crowd ; Neddy could not 
resist the impulse that once possessed Lot’s wife — to look 
back, and see what had become of the dark-browed 
stranger. 

“ Oh, Uldene !” she cried, “ this is growing romantic ; 
he must have fallen in love with you — never dreaming a 
young girl like you could be married. He’s actually 
following us.” 

“ Oh, Neddy, I am horribly afraid of that man, ’ gasped 


15 4 ULDENE MET THE GAZE OF THE STRANGER. . 

Uldene. “I — I don’t know why, but I am. A premoni- 
tion of coming evil seems creeping chillily over my heart. 
There was anything but love in the gaze that met mine ; 
I read in the fiery eyes that looked into mine deadly 
hatred, such as one reads in the eyes of a relentless, bit- 
ter foe. Come, let us hurry away, and elude him in the 
throng.” 

Neddy agreed, and they were soon on the pavement 
The tall, dark-bearded stranger reached the door just in 
time to see the two slender figures enter their coach and 
drive away. 

“ Can you tell me who that beautiful young lady is — 
the dark one, I mean, who just entered that coupe ?” he 
asked of one of the attendants of the academy. 

“ I have heard the name, but I cannot call it to mind 
just now, sir,” answered the man. “She comes here to 
the weekly Thursday receptions. I can tell you this 
much, though, — young as she is, she’s married.” 

“Can you find out her name and address for me ?” 
he asked, slipping a bill into the man’s hand. 

“ Yes, sir,” said the attendant, touching his cap respect- 
fully to the liberal stranger. “Call any time after next 
Thursday, and I will have it for you.” 

The attendant smiled as he looked after the tall, aris- 
tocratic figure until the stranger vanished from sight. 

“It didn’t seem to make any difference to him — my 
hint that the beauty is married, and is not for him,” he 
muttered. 


THE FATAL SECRET. 


155 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THE FATAL SECRET THAT SHADOWED ULDENE’s YOUNG 

LIFE. 

This was Tuesday. The stranger would not find out 
the name of the beautiful girl whose face had attracted 
him until Thursday. How could he restrain his impa- 
tience until that time ? the stranger asked himself, as he 
paced up and down his room in the hotel in the greatest 
of excitement. 

“ The face is so fatally like, she must be her child,” he 
muttered, his face darkening and his eyes flashing. “ I 
remember it was a girl.” 

He turned from the window, again pacing the room 
with hurried strides, as if to keep pace with his thoughts. 

One could see at a glance that he was a foreigner — 
evidently a Frenchman — a tall, dark, handsome man, 
with a proud, resolute face, which wore at all times an 
aspect of almost fierceness. It was a face that was 
seared with a story , as though it had been burned there 
with hot irons. There were great lines of horrible pain 
around the restless, dark eyes which the brooding 
shadows never left, that told of sleepless nights and 
wretched days. 

“ The eighteen years is almost up,” he muttered, with 
a bitter imprecation ; “ and so help me Heaven, when 
the time is come I shall blazon the whole story to the 
world ! Oh, Uldene ! Uldene !” he cried, “ you might 
have made a friend of me, but you chose to make 
me your bitterest enemy ! How dared you allow your 


156 


THE FATAL SECRET. 


child to marry, though she were as beautiful as an 
houri ! Ah ! you knew why she should not, yet you did 
not warn her. 

“ She must part from the man she has wedded, as you, 
before her, were parted from your love. Yes, she must 
put the whole world between herself and the man she 
loves, if she would escape the fatal curse of the daughters 
of her race. 

Early Thursday morning the stranger presented him- 
self at the academy, and received the desired informa- 
tion. 

The lady’s name was Mrs. Uldene Chester, and she 
lived at No. — A Avenue. 

“ Uldene !” he muttered as he turned away. “ Ah ! 
I was not mistaken, then. It is her child ! It must be ! 
The name is not a common one. And her face ! Ah ! 
who could not trace a resemblance in the girl’s dark 
glorious face ? It maddened me as I looked at it — set 
my brain and my heart on fire. 

“ How was he to gain an interview with this girl ?” 
he asked himself, as he stood motionless before the 
number indicated, and looked keenly at the house far 
back on the green sloping lawn. 

Opening the gate noiselessly, he entered the grounds, 
made a circuit of them, finding himself in the beautiful 
flower garden at the rear of the house. 

It was not an enviable position if he were to be 
detected there by any of the servants. Still he was one 
of the coolest and most daring of men. He would be 
equal to the emergency. 

While he was planning a way to the furtherance of 
his object, fate favored him unexpectedly. He saw the 
side door that opened out upon a porch suddenly open, 
and a slender, graceful figure emerge from it, cross the 


THE FATAL SECRET. 


157 


porch, and stroll down into the grounds. Unconsciously 
fate guided her footsteps in the very path that led to the 
spot where the stranger stood, well concealed by the 
shadows of the rose arbor. 

It was Uldene. How wondrously beautiful she looked 
in the bright glow of the moonlight. She was robed in 
a dress of soft, clinging, fleecy white, with dark red 
roses on her breast, and roses in her dark, curling hair. 

Diamonds glittered in the pretty, pink, shell-like ears, 
on the white hands, and ran like a river of glittering fire 
around the white, perfect throat ; but they could not 
outshine the glittering splendor of the starry eyes that 
sought the dark night sky so wistfully as she walked 
slowly along. 

“ How foolish I am to give way to nervous fears and 
presentiments,” she cried, half aloud. “ I will forget 
the dark, haunting face that has made even my dreams 
horrible. Why should I not be happy ? I have Rut- 
ledge’s love, why should I not be happy, I ask myself 
again ? I do not believe the bitterly cruel story Mark 
Sefton wrote, to Rutledge’s mother. I am almost eigh- 
teen, and the fate that was predicted has not overtaken 
me — no sword has fallen upon my head.” 

The moonlight lay white and silvery on the dew- 
steeped flowers ; the night wind stirred the leaves of the 
roses, and their odor seemed to float around her and 
enfold her. There was no sound save the twittering of 
the birds as they sought their nests in the poplar trees ; 
nothing else broke in upon the sweet brooding silence 
of the night. 

And in that fatal hour, when the birds twittered, the 
moonlight fell peacefully on the roses, and the light of 
Heaven seemed fairest, beautiful, hapless Uldene’s doom 
fell upon her. 


158 


THE FATAL SECRET* 


A dark shadow fell over the scarlet blooms, looming 
up darkly between her and the moonlight ; and glancing 
up, with a low cry, she beheld a man standing in the 
path before her. In a flash she had recognized him as 
the stranger she had seen in the picture gallery a few 
days before, and whose face, waking or sleeping, had 
been before her ever since. 

“ Hush !” he cried, springing forward. “ Make no 
outcry, as you value your peace and safety — aye, your 
very life ! I am no robber' — no intruder ; I have been 
searching the earth over for you for nearly eighteen 
years, and I have found you — at last, Uldene.” 

She recoiled in anger and dismay too great for words. 
Who was this man who dared address her thus familiarly ? 
Who was this stranger who forced himself into these 
grounds to accost her ? 

She raised her voice to call the servants to her assist- 
ance that they might summarily eject him, but he antici- 
pated the movement, and caught her white arm in a 
clasp that made her wince with pain. 

“ You would rue it to the day of your death, girl, if 
you were to summon your servants, or perhaps your 
husband here, and they should hear what I have to say 
to you. Your ears, and yours alone, must hear what 
I have to .tell.” 

“ You are certainly a madman,” cried Uldene, indig- 
nantly, struggling to free herself from the strong, steel- 
like clasp that held her white arm fast. 

“ You shall judge of that later on,” he said, quietly, 
adding, with an intense bitterness that quite frightened 
her : “ Your mother made a relentless foe of me in 

years gone by ; see that you do not do the same, for I 
can crush you, or save you from a fate more bitter than 
death, if I so will it.” 


THE FATAL SECRET. 


159 


The words he uttered held her spell-bound. They 
froze the piercing cry on her lips, made her reel dizzily 
forward, like one about to swoon. She would have 
fallen but for that steel-like clasp that never loosened 
its hold of her white arm for a single instant. 

Quickly, and in a low, hoarse voice, he began his 
story — the startling revelation which was to burn its 
way to her brain, and cause her to cry out to Heaven 
for mercy, or death. 

An hour passed. A horrible hour that had been 
counted by the girl’s spasmodic heart-throbs as she 
listened to one of the bitterest, cruelest revelations that 
ever fell upon human ears and broke a human heart. 

Long since the stranger had loosened his hold of her, 
but she did not attempt to fly. She stood before him 
with bated breath, scarcely breathing, lest she might 
lose a word that fell from his lips. 

At length he concluded the horrible recital, and stood 
with folded arms before her. 

“ Now you know all,” he said, calmly. “ Will it be 
necessary for this story to be repeated to your husband, 
or will you quietly accept the alternative ?” 

With a piteous cry, poor, hapless Uldene, the child of 
cruel, sportive fate, cast herself on her knees at the 
stranger’s feet, crying out that the sorrow that had 
fallen upon her was too great to bear, and begging 
Heaven to let her die and end it all. 

“Rutledge must never know it,” she sobbed, in wild, 
piteous entreaty. “ He would turn from mein abhor- 
rence and loathing, and that would be more cruel than 
death to endure. Oh, I never dreamed that anything 
like this hung over my hapless, miserable head. Oh, 
it would have been better if my love had died in the 
hour he was to have made me his bride than married 


160 


THE FATAL SECRET. 


me. It was monstrous, inhuman that I did not know — 
that I could not have been warned ; and, oh, the pity of 
it, the pity of it ! I love him a thousand times better 
than my poor, miserable life.” 

“You forget that your mother fled with you when 
you were a little child,” interposed the stranger. “I 
could not find you. You say she died, just on the point 
of revealing some terrible mystery. How, then, could 
you have been warned ?” 

Something like pity stirred the man’s heart as he 
looked down into that beautiful, agonized face upturned 
to the light of the pitying moon. 

“Oh, how can I part with Rutledge when I love him 
so ?” S’he moaned, stretching out her white arms to the 
night stars. “ How could I live the long years while 
my life lasted, watching the summer suns and the win- 
ter snows come and go, and know that I must see him 
no more ? Oh, I could never do it ! No, no, no, I 
could not !” 

“ For his sake, if you love him, you will go, even 
though it breaks your heart. You know what the future 
will bring to you. Oh, unfortunate daughter of an 
unfortunate race, you cannot escape your doom any 
more than your ancestors could, for long generations 
before you. You dare not defy fate. If you persist in 
clinging to him, I must warn him — you can see for 
yourself that I must — let the consequences be what they 
may. I shall give you one hour to decide, Uldene, 
although under the circumstances you should not hesi- 
tate a moment. 

“ An hour from now I shall come to this spot, and 
you shall tell me your decision. If you are not here, I 
shall go to the house, late as the hour is, and call for 



HE’S ACTUALLY FOLLOWING US !” 

See Page 153 . 




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THE FATAL SECRET. 


163 


your husband. You know but too well w T hat the result 
of that interview will be. I have no more to say.” 

Without another word he turned and left her. 

Uldene fell with a cry so bitter that it startled even 
the sleeping birds in the trees. The moonlight fell over 
her as she lay there in the long, green, dew-wet grass ; 
the summer wind swept over her, dying away among 
the trees as though it knew, and could understand, that 
among the odorous roses a human heart was breaking, 
and some one was praying for the sweet boon of death 
to end it all. 

An hour later the moon, that in all its rounds has 
witnessed so many pitiful tragedies, was still shining, 
the earth lay green and still, the birds were in their 
nests, the flowers were asleep, the great boughs were 
still, and again the dark-browed stranger came slowly 
up the broad, pebbled, flower-bordered path, keeping 
well in the shadow of the trees. 

He stood still and motionless. 

“She is not here,” he said to himself. 

Almost an hour he waited. There was no sound of 
footsteps, no shadow of a figure. 

“ Like her wilful, desperate, fatally beautiful mother, 
she has brought down her fate on her own head,” he 
said, grimly, walking swiftly up the path that led to the 
house. 


164 


“ CRUEL FATE HAS PARTED US.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 

“ CRUEL FATE HAS PARTED US, DARLING.” 

“ I know that the sentence of death is written 
Against our love by the hand of fate ; 

I know all the joy of our lives is smitten, 

A deadly blow by the direst hate ; 

“ But my heart rebels with fiercest passion ; 

It will not submit to their stern decree ; 

Love cannot be slain in murd’rous fashion ; 

Like a giant, it struggles for mastery. 

“ Though they bury it deep in their deadly malice, 

Crushing out, as they think, its latest breath, 

Yet, with strength renewed, as from blood-filled chalice. 

It will rise to prove that love knows no death ! 

“ If love is a crime — a sinful passion — 

Why, then, should a God so good and wise 
Have moulded our hearts in such wondrous fashion 
That nothing but love e’er satisfies ? 

“ If it be a sin, and only repenting 

And firmly forsaking brings pardon divine, 

Then my soul must be doomed to woes unrelenting, 

For no change can e’er come to a love such as mine !” 

The death-like swoon into which Uldene had fallen 
was of short duration ; with a shock, memory returned 
to her. She sprang to her feet with as bitter a cry as 
ever fell from mortal lips, and gazed fearfully around 
her. 


165 


“ CRUEL FATE HAS PARTED US.” 

Her enemy was not there ; but within the hour she 
knew he would return for his answer ; nothing could 
prevent that. And then — ah, God help her ! She 
dared not think what would happen then. 

An hour ! She had an hour’s respite. What might 
not be accomplished in that length of time ? 

Ships had been wrecked, yet whole crews had been 
saved in half that length of time ; floods had covered 
whole villages, but in the hour the water was rising the 
people had fled to the hills and saved themselves. 

Whole cities had been swept by flames, and the 
people had saved themselves in the first hour the alarm- 
ing warning had been given. 

Why should she not make the most desperate effort 
of her life to save herself in this fatal hour ? Ah, if she 
could put the whole world between herself and her 
merciless foe— flying, not alone, but defying fate itself 
by taking Rutledge with her ! 

“ Oh, my love, my love,” she moaned, “ in spite of all, 
how am I to part from you ?” 

If it were left for her to decide, her great, passionate, 
blind love would influence her. She stood in the long, 
dew-wet grass, holding out her little white hands to the 
star-gemmed sky ; and only Heaven knew the struggle 
that was going on in her soul, for she knew there would 
come a day when the curse of God would fall upon her, 
as it had fallen upon every daughter of her fated race, 
if, after this warning, she did not part at once and for- 
ever from her love ere it was too late. 

“ Oh, God, teach me how I am to give up my love 
whom I love so well !” moaned Uldene. “ Oh, white 
clouds !” she cried, “ choose for me ! I ask you to decide 
a human life — a human soul to-night ! If yonder fleecy 
clouds obscure the face of the moon as they pass, I sol- 


166 “ CRUEL FATE HAS PARTED US.” 

emnly pledge to you that within the hour I will part 
from my heart’s love, making no moan, though it will 
be the bitterness of death for me. If, on the other hand, 
yonder clouds sail bv, and no shadow drifts over the 
moon, I will cling to Rutledge’s love, defying fate itself. 
I pledge myself to Heaven that those white clouds 
shall decide for weal or for woe, for joy or the coldness 
and darkness of despair.” 

Never in this world was there a more piteous look 
than the beautiful young face turned upward to the 
moonlit, star-gemmed sky, and the white clouds that 
were to decide either life or death for her. 

She knelt down in the dew-wet grass, with her ice- 
cold hands clasped over her heart, piteously watching 
the white clouds. Nearer — nearer they approached the 
great white light. Uldene caught her breath in a pant- 
ing gasp. Did the angels realize her woe ? Would they 
intercede for her, begging that mercy might be shown 
her ? She was so young, and she loved him so. 

One instant more, and they would decide her future. 
That instant seemed the length of eternity. Nearer, 
nearer they approached the soft, bright, silvery orb, and 
as she watched them, slowly but surely they obscured it. 
Ah, yes ! it was Heaven’s solemn warning to her that 
she must part from her love, if she would save him. In 
that moment the girl turned away with the bitterness of 
death in her heart, and passed slowly up the lilac grove, 
sweet with the breath of purple, tossing plumes, to the 
house. 

She had thought to gain her own room without being 
observed ; but this was not to be. In the corridor she 
came face to face with Rutledge. 

“ I was just about starting out through the grounds 


167 


66 CRUEL FATE HAS PARTED US.” 

in search of you, dear,” he said. “What were you 
doing out among the roses so long ?” 

He started abruptly as he saw her face. It was as 
white as marble, and the large, dark eyes had in them a 
hunted look, dazed by terror. 

“.Uldene !” he cried, springing to her side, and throw- 
ing his strong arms about the slender, swaying figure, 
“ what is the matter, dear ? Are you ill ?” 

He could not understand then, but he knew but too 
well afterward, why she shrank back in his arms, cling- 
ing to him, weeping, and kissing him by turns, clasping 
her white arms so tightly, so piteously, 'about him, yet 
shuddering at his fond caresses. How could he know 
that while she clung to him she was silently bidding 
him farewell forever ? 

“ You are not well, darling,” he said, anxiously. “ You 
are almost hysterically nervous. You have been exert- 
ing yourself too much to entertain lately. Such a round 
of gayeties, parties, balls, rides, receptions every day 
without cessation is beginning to tell upon you. Go to 
your room and rest, dear. I will look in, in the course 
of an hour, and see how you are. Your face is white as 
death, and your hands are burning hot. If this state of 
affairs continues, I shall call in a doctor.” 

A doctor ! Ah, who could “ minister to a mind dis- 
eased ?” 

She knew, poor soul, that she must part with him 
while her strength lasted. 

Slowly she unwound her white arms from his neck, 
and turned from him, stifling the bitter cry that rose to 
her lips. She dared not look into his face again, lest 
her courage should fail her. Slowly she turned, and 
with an unsteady step ascended the stairs. 

Nanon, her maid, was in her boudoir, stitching away 


168 


“ CRUEL FATE HAS PARTED US.” 


at a marvelous ball dress of rose pink satin and seed 
pearls that she was to wear to a grand bail on the fol- 
lowing evening. 

“ Put it away, Nanon, and leave me,” said Uldene. 
“ I want to be alone. See that no one disturbs me, 
Nanon,” she went on, piteously. 

When the girl reached the door she called her back. 

“ Come in in an hour from now, Nanon,” she whis- 
pered, with pale lips, “and on the table yonder you will 
find a sealed letter, addressed to my husband. Take it 
to him with your own hands. Let no one know. You 
will do this, Nanon ?” 

“Yes, my lady,” answered the girl, courtesying and 
wondering at the strange request, “ it shall be done as 
you wish.” 

The girl looked back wistfully as she reached the 
door, and as she saw that lovely despairing face then, 
she saw it never again in this life. 

Left to herself, Uldene rose swiftly and turned the 
key in the lock. No one must interrupt her while she 
was writing that pitiful letter to Rutledge. 

She went to her writing-desk, opened it, and drew 
forth a sheet of paper. For the next twenty minutes 
the silence of death filled the room, broken only by the 
swift whirr of the pen on the white paper and the slow 
ticking of the clock on the mantel. 

It was not a long letter, and it was blotted by burn- 
ing, bitter tears. These are the words he was to read : 

“ Rutledge : When your eyes rest upon these lines I shall be 
far away. I am leaving you wilfully and deliberately ; and, oh, 
my darling, I cannot tell you why ! Think of me as you will. 
Our marriage was a bitter mistake. Heaven knows I wish from 
the bottom of my heart it had never been consummated. I am 


CRUEL FATE HAS PARTED US. 


169 


« 


5) 


going out of your life quietly, Rutledge. It will be worse than 
useless to search for me. You will never find me. Never ! 

“ Believe me false, if you will — cruelly false. Perhaps that will 
make the blow I am dealing you easier to bear. Fate has parted 
us, Rutledge. 

“ There is no pardon, no mercy for me for what I have done. 
There is none on earth. There is none, perhaps, in Heaven. I 
expect none. 

“ Do not quite hate my memory, Rutledge, for I cannot bear 
that. Remember it was fate that parted us. When I clung to 
you to-night with tears and kisses, I was bidding you a silent, 
eternal farewell.” 


She dared not write one word of the great love that 
was blistering her heart — no, not one word — for her 
heart would break over it. Time, too, was flying, swift- 
winged, past her. A cry of horror broke from her lips, 
for, glancing at the gilded clock, she saw her hour of 
respite was nearly up. 

Folding and sealing the letter, she placed it on the 
table, covering it with passionate kisses ; for it was to 
rest in his hands ; his eyes were to read what she had 
written — this love of her heart whom she was bidding 
farewell and from whom fate had parted her. 

“ It is God’s retribution that has fallen upon me )” 
she wailed, as she threw off the pretty white mull dress 
and donned a heavy traveling one. “ In my mad folly, 
thinking Heaven would pardon me, I took him from 
Verlie ; and now God has, in turn, taken him from me.” 

With a sob, she fastened the long, dark cloak about 
her, and threw a dark vail over her agonized face. Then, 
without one glance behind her, she fled from the room 
and out of the house. 

As she crossed the vestibule she saw her mortal foe 


170 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


advancing up the broad marble steps that led to the 
porch. 

He saw her and drew back into the shadow, waiting 
until she had come up to him. 

“ You have decided wisely and well, Uldene,” he said, 
glancing at her dress. “ You are willing to part from 
him forever/’ 

“ Willing !” she cried, in a low voice of intense anguish. 
“ Oh, God, no ! But I am forced to part with him. And 
you know it ! I am going, but my wrenched, bleeding 
heart I will leave with him. If suicide were not a crime, 
I would kill myself with my own hand here and now, 
rather than go with you !” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A FATAL MISTAKE. 

“ Oh, sad, sad words, and broken-hearted, 

Are these — We loved, and we have parted.” 

The man’s dark, haughty face flushed slightly at her 
vehement words, but he made no reply. 

“ There is one grace I should like to ask of you,” 
continued Uldene bitterly, “ and that is : — that I may 
leave here alone.” 

“ I have had too much trouble to find you to lose 
sight of you,” he answered, grimly. 

“I will not go with you,” she cried, decisively. “ Our 
paths lie in different directions. You have broken my 
heart, now leave me in peace.” 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


171 


“ Think what the result would have been, in all its 
horror, if I had not interfered. Your husband would 
have turned from you in horror and loathing too great 
for words. The law would have freed him from you, 
and you know it. Why, then, wait for the finale ? 
Better to go away and save yourself, and spare him." 

“ Why have I been so bitterly accursed ?” cried Uldene, 
piteously. “ I have done no wrong, committed no sin. 
Why, then, am I to be so bitterly punished ? I wish to 
God I had died in my infancy !” 

“That is the prayer that has fallen from the lips of 
every daughter of your race,” he answered, grimly. 
“ But death does not come to them until the terrible pro- 
phecy has been fulfilled. There is but one way, and one way 
only, by whch I could consent to leave you to your- 
self, if you should prefer that to accompanying me.” 

“And that way ?” whispered Uldene, breathlessly. 

“ Is to immure yourself while your life lasts within 
the walls of a convent.” 

“ Have pity on me. I am so young,” she wailed. “I 
— I would sooner die. The walls of a convent might be 
a haven of rest to some, but to me its grim walls would 
be a living tomb. I love the gay, bright world so.” 

“ Then you will prefer going with me,” he said, grimly. 

“ No ! a thousand times no !” cried Uldene, with a 
shudder. “ Anything rather than that.” 

Suddenly, like a gleam of inspiration, an idea occurred 
to her. Why not consent to go with him to allay his 
suspicion ? She would enter the train with him, and at 
the first station at which the train stopped she would 
spring from it, and he would lose her in the darkness of 
the night. 

He was surprised at her ready consent to accompany 
him in preference to going to the convent. He had 


172 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


based his hopes upon the idea that she would choose 
the latter. 

“ We have not a moment to lose, then,” he said, 
drawing her toward the coupe in waiting. 

A moment later they were whirling away through the 
darkness of the night toward the depot. 

The train for Baltimore was just starting. The dark- 
browed gentleman, accompanied by the slim, girlish, 
muffled figure, had barely time to purchase their tickets 
and gain the platform ere the express steamed slowly 
out of the depot. 

The passengers saw that the little hands were locked 
tightly together, and the face that glimmered faintly 
through the thick folds of the vail was as white as 
marble. 

This supposed easy victory, as Uldene imagined, quite 
threw her companion off his guard. 

“ We change cars at the cross-roads, forty miles from 
here. We make no stop until we reach there. Would 
you mind if I were to go to the smoking-car and enjoy 
the luxury of a cigar ?” he asked. 

“ On the contrary, your absence will afford me great 
relief,” said Uldene, with frank bitterness. 

He arose, raised his hat with a mocking bow, and 
sauntered leisurely toward the smoking car forward. 

His thoughts were in a strangely confused state. It 
was not his intention to have this girl on his hands ; 
she should go to the convent — hidden there as completely 
while she lived as though she were in a living tomb, as 
she had expressed it ; either that, or he would force her 
to go to the self-same place from which her mother had 
fled in terror long years ago, and where every daughter 
of her fated race had gone, and the world had heard 
from them never again. “ Yes. if she refused to go to 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


173 


the convent, she should go — there” he told himself, 
grimly. 

While he was laying the cruelest plot that ever blasted 
a young life, a strange scene was ensuing in the parlor 
car he had just left. 

A young girl, seated directly behind Uldene, had 
leaned forward and touched her hesitatingly on the 
arm. 

“ The gentleman has made a slight mistake, made- 
moiselle, M she said, in a slightly foreign accent. “ The 
train stops once this side of the cross-road ; it stops ten 
minutes for luncheon.” 

Uldene gave a slight start. As she gazed into the 
dark-eyed young stranger’s face the thought occurred to 
her — How strangely it resembled her own. And with 
that thought came another — a more daring one. 

She leaned over the back of her- seat, pale with sup- 
pressed excitement, and gazed into the dimpled, rose- 
bud face. 

“ If I were to leave the car for a cup of tea, would 
you do me the great favor of looking after my cloak and 
my satchel ?” whispered Uldene. 

“Certainly,” responded the young girl ; “ it will give 
me great pleasure to be of any assistance to you.” 

“ Thank you,” replied Uldene, trembling with excite- 
ment, as she slipped off the long silk circular and 
wrapped it about the girl, and handed her her satchel 
and vail. 

The plan that had entered Uldene’s mind was to slip 
unnoticed from the train at the station indicated. If 
her companion looked in at the doorway, seeing this 
girl, he would most naturally mistake her for herself, 
the resemblance was so striking. The train would rush 


174 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


on through the darkness again, and he would not miss 
her until the end of the destination. 

This was better than trusting herself to this man, 
whose claim upon her could force her to bend her will 
to his — who could place her in a convent if he chose, or 
make life more cruel than death to her. 

Sooner than they had anticipated the station was 
reached. Unobserved, unnoticed, Uldene left the train. 
At that instant one of the brakemen thrust his head in 
at the other door, announcing that the train would not 
stop at the station for luncheon, as they were nearly 
a quarter of an hour behindhand. 

“ Ah me !” cried the young girl, who had vouchsafed 
to care for Uldene’s belongings, as she clutched the 
heavy silk cloak that was folded about her, “ the lady 
will miss the train, and it’s all my fault — all mine, tell- 
ing her we should stop here ten minutes for luncheon. 
Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! What shall I do ?” 

On rushed the shrieking train, past sleeping villages, 
past fruitful farms, past hills and valleys — on, until it 
reached the great curve that the engineer always dreaded. 
He knew he should have slackened his speed, but he must 
make up time ; he was yet five minutes late. He must 
reach the cross-roads before the northern express 
started. 

The great curve was reached. Who shall say how it 
happened ? There came a terrible shock, a terrible 
noise, a crash of broken glass, mingled with the hissing 
of steam, and horrible cries of men, women and 
children. 

A rushing, blinding, bewildering shock, as two trains 
met at the sharp curve with deadly force, and both went 
whirling through space, down, down the steep embank- 
ment to the valley below. 


A FATAL MISTAKE}. 


175 


A collision. One train was five minutes too early, 
another three minutes late ! There was some careless- 
ness over signals, and for that carelessness helpless 
human beings paid with their lives. 

There was dire confusion and dismay, then those who 
had escaped began to collect themselves. Lanterns were 
brought from an adjacent village, and the dead, the 
dying and wounded were extracted from the wreck, and 



were laid side by side in the pale moonlight on the cool, 
green, daisy-studded grass. 

Then there came a cry that some one was lying, face 
downward, in the brook that ran through the valley. 

Strong men hurried there. They saw a mass of dark, 
curling hair, a long silk cloak wrapped around the body, 
and a traveling-bag held in a stiff, white hand. 

They raised the slim figure ; it was that of a woman, 
young and fair ; but a cry of horror rose to their lips as 
they held their lanterns down to her face ; it was crushed 


176 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


beyond all semblance to humanity — crushed beyond all 
hope of recognition by even those to whom she was 
nearest and dearest. Some one suggested that the trav- 
eling-bag be opened ; perhaps it contained something 
that might lead to the poor soul’s identification. 

It did contain something — an address, printed in gold 
lettering upon the silken pocket of the Russia leather 
bag — the address in full of Uldene Chester. 

A few pocket-handkerchiefs were daintily embroidered 
in silk floss with the name — Uldene. 

“This is Rutledge Chester’s young bride,” said some 
one in the crowd. “ I met her once. It is certainly she. 
He must be telegraphed for at once.” 

A dark-browed man, muffled to the chin, stood staring 
down on the mutilated figure in horror too great for 
words. 

“ Dead !” he muttered, under his breath. “ It is better 
so ; she is out of my way forever !” 

No remorse came to him that she lay dead in all her 
youth and her fair young beauty ; his conscience, and 
his heart — harder than marble — did not suffer one pang 
that should have come to him, knowing, as he did, that 
he had snared her in his cruel meshes, dragging her 
down to her doom. 

“ What satisfactory news to take back across the ocean 
with me — ‘ The girl is dead ! She will never cross our 
path again — never again — unless the dead have power to 
rise from the grave !’ ” 


“I WAS TO DELIVER THIS LETTER.” ITT 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

“ I WAS TO DELIVER THIS LETTER TO YOU WITH MY 
OWN HANDS.” 

The hand of fate never brought about a stranger or 
more fatal mistake than that which had occurred. When 
Uldene asked the stranger in the seat behind her to take 
charge of her wraps, how little she dreamed of the 
pitiful consequences that were to accrue from that 
one act. 

While Uldene was making her way along the unfre- 
quented country road, in the dewy fragrance of the 
summer night, the following telegram was speeding over 
the wires to Rutledge Chester : 

“ Allendale Station, June 3rd. 

“ To Mr. Rutledge Chester : There has been a dreadful 
accident near this village. Your wife was on the train. Come on 
at once.” 

It was signed by one of the passengers on the ill-fated 
express. 

Let us go in advance of that telegram, dear reader, 
and look in at that home that was so soon to be the 
scene of the deepest woe. 

In the parlor sat Neddy Temple, running her white 
fingers up and down the key-board of the grand piano, 
trying to coax music out of them, as she declared. 

She whirls around on the stool just in time to see the 
amused smile on Rutledge Chester’s face reflected in the 


178 


“i WAS TO DELIVER THIS LETTER . 55 

French mirror, opposite the bay window in which he 
has ensconced himself. 

“ You are laughing at me again, Mr. Chester. You 
are always laughing at my music/’ flashed out Neddy. 
“ I did not know you were listening. I thought you 
were deeply immersed in the columns of your paper.” 

“That would be impossible — to read, I mean, — when 
you are at the piano,” he remarked, dryly, breaking out 
into a hearty laugh, as he saw Neddy bristling up with 
anger. 

“ You don’t know good music when you do hear it, I 
am beginning to believe ; Uldene has always declared 
it,” she pouted. 

“On the contrary, it is patent that I am a good judge 
of it, for I am charmed with yours, Miss Neddy,” he 
returned, with a graceful bow. “ Pray don’t allow me 
to disturb you ; I am going directly.” 

“ If you will send Uldene to me here, I will promise 
to forgive you,” she replied, easily mollified. 

“ I shall obey your command with the greatest of 
pleasure,” he said. “ I am going directly to her 
boudoir.” 

Fun-loving, rollicking, mischievous Neddy drowned 
his words in a perfect shower of discordant sounds that 
sent him fairly flying out of the parlor and up the grand 
stairway, out of hearing of the ear-splitting melody. 

Meanwhile Rutledge hurried smilingly toward 
Uldene’s boudoir. At the door he was met by Nanon, 
the maid, and he saw that she held a letter in her hand. 

“ If you please, sir,” she said, courtseying shyly to her 
handsome young master, “ madame said, when you came 
up to her room I was to give you this letter with my 
own hands.” 

He took the letter, and pushed past the maid into 


“i WAS TO DELIVER THIS LETTER.” 179 

Uldene’s pink and gold boudoir. He looked through 
the suites of pretty rooms — Uldene was not there. He 
looked at the sealed letter in his hand, which bore his 
name in his wife's dainty chirography, and a merry 
twinkle lit up his dark eyes, — no doubt it was a gentle 
reminder, in her pretty, delicate way, that she needed a 
new check-book, or that she wanted him to invest a little 
fortune in some painting, statuary, or bric-a-brac that 
had caught her eye. 

Without one shadow of a presentiment of what he was 
to read, he opened the envelope, crossing over to the 
dainty willow basket to drop the fragment into it as he 
tore the envelope off at the end. 

Standing beneath the rosy glow of the gaslight, he 
opened it and ran his eyes over its contents. 

As he read, his face grew ghastly white, and he stag- 
gered back, like one smitten by a terrible blow — as he 
read it, it seemed to him that an iron hand clutched his 
heart, and held it still. Great drops of agony stood out 
on his forehead, and the blood grew cold in his veins. 
Uldene had fled from him. He could not — he would 
not believe it. She loved him with all her heart. He 
could stake his life — aye, his very soul — upon it. 

“ It was all a jest,” he told himself. “ One of Uldene’s 
mischievous experiments to test his love for her. He 
would not believe the words of the letter, though they 
startled him horribly.” 

He went through the handsome suite of rooms. They 
were in evident confusion. The pretty ball dress she 
had brought him into her boudoir that very afternoon to 
admire, lay trampled upon the floor. Her jewel cases 
lay about, rifled of their contents. The door of her 
wardrobe stood open. He swept aside the heavy velvet 


180 


U 1 WAS TO DELIVER THIS LETTER.” 

hangings, and looked into the room beyond, calling 
hurriedly : 

“Uldene! Uldene ! my darling ! Come here! I 
want you !” 

The room was empty. No sweet voice answered him. 
No white arms stole quickly around his neck, and no 
loving voice whispered the words he was straining his 
ears to catch : 

“I wanted to see, dear, if you would really care if you 
were to lose me.” 

The room was cold and chill, as though a blight had 
fallen over it. He stands for a moment gazing about 
him, and in that moment he hears a confusion in the 
passage outside, followed by a quick, sharp rap at the 
door. 

In response to his husky “ Come in !” a servant enters, 
with a telegram in his hand. 

“ What is it, James ?” asks Mr. Chester, for the man’s 
face has on it the pallor of terror. “ A telegram ! Who 
could have telegraphed to me ? Read it to me. My 
eyes are dazed.” 

But the man hesitated. His white face and trembling 
hands might have told his master that he had already 
done so. 

“ Perhaps, sir,” he said, respectfully, “ it would be 
better if you would read it yourself. It may contain 
bad news.” 

“ Read it,” said Rutledge Chester, impatiently, after 
he had made a vain attempt. “ The lines waver before 
my eyes.” 

“It says there has been a terrible railway accident at 
Allendale Station, sir. You are wanted there. Your 
wife was on the train,” 

“ My wife on the train, James !” he cried out. “ Are 


181 


“i WAS TO DELIVER THIS LETTER.” 

you mad ? What, in Heaven’s name, would my wife be 
doing on the train? There is some mistake !” 

Then suddenly he began to tremble with a strange 
dread. His heart began to beat with awful throbs. A 
cry came from his white lips. He was beginning to 
understand that Uldene’s letter was no jest. She had 
left him. Yes, this young bride, on whose love for 
himself he would have staked his hopes of heaven, he 
had believed and trusted her so implicitly, had left him. 

Yes, she had left him. He was beginning to compre- 
hend the import of the telegram. Something had hap- 
pened to the train on which she had gone. What had 
happened ? What was it? What was the worst? Was 
she living, or dead ? 

In less than ten minutes Rutledge was at the depot. 

James, his faithful valet, went with him, for Mr. Ches- 
ter seemed quite unfit to travel alone. With a white, 
drawn face he entered the car. The train was an, 
express, that went at almost frightful speed. Yet it 
seemed to the agonized young husband that it only 
crawled along. How was he to live until Allendale was 
reached ? How was he to bear the cruel suspense, the 
agony of waiting? His strong hands were clenched, 
his teeth set. The breath came in hot gasps from his 
pale lips. 

Over and over again the words of the telegram rang 
in his ears. It was well for him the journey was not 
long. Suspense would have killed him had it con- 
tinued. 

In the gray, early dawn the train reached Allendale 
Station. 

Confusion seemed to reign everywhere. As Rut- 
ledge Chester stepped from the car, a strange, hushed 
silence fell upon the crowd on the platform. 


182 “i WAS TO DELIVER THIS LETTER.” 

Two gentlemen came forward hastily. One was one 
of the officials of the road, a Mr. Dean, and the other 
the gentleman who had sent him the telegram to 
come on. 

They both looked with great compassion at the hand* 
some, haggard young husband. 

“ You are Mr. Chester, I believe ?” said one of the 
gentlemen, advancing and touching him on the arm. 

“ Yes, yes,” cried Rutledge, hoarsely. “ How is she — 
my wife ! Let me see her at once.” 

“ Not this moment , you must wait a little,” was the 
reply. “ It was a terrible accident, remember.” 

“ If I wait I shall die,” said Rutledge Chester, with 
forced calmness, more terrible to bear than the wildest 
outbreak of grief. “Tell me at least how she is.” The 
two gentlemen looked at each other, neither daring to 
speak. “ For Heaven sake, take me to her •” he cried. 
“ I have borne all I can bear — take me to her , I cannot 
bear another moment of this suspense ” 

He saw the look they exchanged, a terrible terror 
seized him. 

“You see suspense is driving me mad !” he groaned. 
“ Is she alive — or — dead ?” 

“ You will need all your courage, sir,” said the official, 
pityingly — “all the bravery that a man can show. You 
must not fail. There are many here whose sorrow is 
equal to yours.” 

“I will not fail,” said Rutledge Chester. “Tell me 
the worst, and in Heaven’s name I will bear it. Tell 
me the worst ; is my darling living — or dead ?” 

“ It is the worst, sir,” replied the official. 

“You mean — ”he gasped. Then he stopped abruptly. 

“ I mean,” said the official, pityingly, “ that your young 


“i WAS TO DELIVER THIS LETTER.” 183 

wife is dead! Remember, Heaven gives and Heaven 
takes away,” he added, solemnly. 

“ Dead !” he muttered — “ dead L” and he looked at the 
gentlemen with dazed, despairing eyes. Then with a 
violent effort he controlled himself, and asked to be 
taken to her. 

They went with him to the long, narrow waiting-room 
where the dead lay side by side, their faces reverently 
covered from the garish morning light. He passed them 
in awed silence. 

When they brought him to the spot where the slender 
figure lay, covered by the long silk cloak, a low moan 
broke from his lips. He had recognized the cloak — one 
he had purchased for her himself not long before. 

“ Let me see her face !” he cried. “ Oh, my beautiful 
Uldene ! my lost love, my beautiful young wife !” 

They drew back his outstretched hand with gentle 
force. 

“ You have loved her too well to look upon the havoc 
death has made^^iey whispered. “The beautiful face 
— ah, how shalr^ find words to say it? — is beyond all 
recognition. We recognized, or identified her, rather, by 
the satchel she still clasps in her death-cold hand. The 
address was inside. Do not attempt to lift the handker- 
chief we have placed over the mutilated face ; the hor- 
ror of the sight you would see would drive you mad.” 

In grief pitiful to behold Rutledge Chester knelt 
down by the body which he believed was that of Uldene, 
his young wife, and what he suffered only Heaven knew. 
But the fiercest storm must wear away, the most violent 
grief must, in time, sob itself out. We must part from 
those we love better than life itself, and bear it. 

But grief could not bring life back to that still form, 


184 


“it is best.” 

breath to those ice-cold lips, and warmth to the cold, 
white hands, so like the frozen petals of a lily. 

He returned home on the next train, bearing with 
him what he supposed were the remains of his darling, 
lost Uldene, and a few days later they were placed in 
the marble vault of the Chesters, and on the cold, white 
tablet were the chiseled words : 

Sacred to the Memory of 
ULDENE, 

Beloved Wife of Rutledge Chester. 

Aged 17 Years and 11 Months. 

Rest in Peace . 


CHAPTER XXV. 

il IT IS BEST THAT HE SHOULD BELIEVE ME DEAD.” 

As the train had rushed on through the darkness, 
Uldene had turned away with a bitter cry. She saw by 
the dim light of the stars a path running parallel with 
the iron rails, and her feet struck into the path. She 
knew not, cared not, whither it led. 

She walked through the fragrant, starlit darkness of 
the summer night like one in a hideous dream. 

“What should she do? Where should she go?” she 
asked herself. And again the wild prayer rose to her 
lips : “Would to Heaven death would come to her and 
end it all !” 


IT IS BEST. 


185 


u 


V 


But, alas ! the boon of death seldom comes when the 
wretched call. 

“ I have lost all that I hold dear in the world,” she 
sobbed, piteously. “ I am parted by fate, more cruel than 
death, from Rutledge. What is there left to live, for? 
If I had braved fate, would it have ended in a 
tragedy ?” she whispered, below her breath. “ I dared 
not risk it. Oh, no, no, no ! Better to part from Rut- 
ledge while he loves me, than wait in terror, too pitiful 
to be described by weak words, for the hour to come in 
which he would know all, and hate me with bitte^hatred. 
My head aches. I am too tired to think,” she said to 
herself. 

How far she traveled that night, or which direction 
she took, were details Uldene could never remember. 

When the red gleam of early dawn broke through the 
leaden gray sky, she found herself near a small railway 
station. A sense of her position came to her. 

“ Now,” she said to herself, “ I must think what I am 
to do.” 

She could hear from afar off the shrill shriek of an 
approaching train, and the thought occurred to her that 
she would take it, no matter whence the direction. It 
mattered little to her where she went. 

She pushed through the crowd in waiting toward the 
ticket office. 

“ That young girl is ill,” whispered a motherly look- 
ing woman to her husband, as Uldene passed them. 
“ See, she is as white as death, and her dark eyes burn 
like flame.” 

Uldene heard her, and a wild, hysterical sob rose to 
her lips. « 

111 ! What was all the illness in the world compared 
to what she was suffering ? 


186 “ IT IS BEST.” 

She stood quite irresolute, gazing helplessly around 
her. 

The voice of the officious ticket agent broke in upon 
her confused musings. 

“ Where to, miss?” he inquired, in a brisk, pleasant 
manner. 

Uldene did not know herself. She muttered some 
incoherent reply. 

“ Did you say you wished to go to — ” 

The shriek of the approaching train drowned his 
voice. 

Uldene did not catch the name of the place he had 
mentioned. She knew he was waiting impatiently for 
her answer. 

“ Yes, that is where I want to go,” she said. 

“ Do you want a check for your trunk, miss ?” he 
asked, as he handed her her ticket and change for the 
bill she had given him. 

She looked so bewildered at traveling alone, so young 
and inexperienced. 

“ No, she had no trunks,” she said, turning away. 

The agent looked after her, telling himself he had 
never seen so beautiful a creature. 

When Uldene was seated in the car she found that 
she had purchased a through ticket for Baltimore. 

During the long ride Uldene attracted much atten- 
tion from the passengers around her. They wondered 
why she kept her face turned so persistently toward the 
window. They could quite see that the strained gaze 
was too intent for seeing. 

When Uldene reached her destination, and found her- 
self alone in the crowded streets, she felt more forlorn 
and desperate than ever. She was tempted to cry out 
for help and pity. 


IT IS BEST. 


187 


<( 




She was cold and hungry, and the thought occurred to 
her to find a quiet boarding-house where she could get a 
cup of tea and rest, and think, looking the dark, dread 
future fully in the face. 

By inquiry she found just such a place as she needed, 
and secured a room at once. She was so thoroughly 
exhausted she was not able to leave it for three days. 
When, at last, she was able to go down to the little mea- 
ger sitting-room — by courtesy called a parlor — she saw a 
paper lying on the center-table, and the startling head- 
lines of the first column caught her eye, and held her 
spell-bound. 

‘‘That was a terrible accident,” said the voluble land- 
lady, pointing to the column. “About midway down 
the page it tells of the grief of a frantic young husband 
who found the body of his bride so terribly mutilated 
that he could never have recognized her if it had not, 
been for her wrap and satchel. How I wept for poor 
Mr. Chester as I read it.” 

A low, suppressed cry fell from Uldene’s lips. With 
shaking, cold hands she picked up the paper, and the 
first paragraph that met her eye was the graphic account 
of her own tragic death by the wrecking of the train. 
She read on with dazecj eyes, how she had been buried in 
the family vault, artid of , the wild grief of her husband. 
Uldene read the account through a second time, and a 
third time, and as she sat there holding the paper in her 
hand, she made to herself a solemn vow. 

As Rutledge believed her dead, she would remain 
so to him while her poor life lasted. He should never 
know that she lived. Fate must have foreseen this 
when the young girl in the seat back of her had con- 
sented to take charge of her wrap and satchel. 

It was more bitter than death, for she loved him better 


188 


IT IS BEST. 




?> 


than life itself ; but the curse, the doom that hung over 
her — this hapless daughter of a fated race — made it 
imperative for her to put the whole world between her- 
self and the man she loved. 

Yes, she would drag out her weary life in solitude, 
and Rutledge Chester should believe that she slept in 
the old vault in the graveyard. She would watch over 
him from afar like a guardian angel ; but he should 
never know — never know the pitiful truth. 

As she read further down another sentence met her 
eye. After she had read it she threw up her hands and 
fell like one dead to the floor. 

These were the words she read : 

“On the day following the burial of his beautiful young bride, 
Rutledge Chester had suddenly closed up his business affairs and 
had gone abroad, none knew whither. To a friend who had 
accompanied him on board the steamer he had said he might be 
gone from his native land for years — perhaps forever.” 

The were three others who read that tragic story with 
intense emotion — Mark Sefton and his wife, and Verlie. 

“ May Heaven forgive me for my wicked thoughts 
toward poor Uldene,” she sobbed, “ now that she is 
dead.” 

Long and bitterly Verlie mourned for Uldene. True, 
she had spoiled her young life — made it desolate and 
dreary, but for all that, Verlie would have died to pro- 
mote the happiness of Uldene, if she could have done 
so. The thought that the man she loved was free never 
crossed the mind of noble, pure-hearted Verlie. 

Perhaps something like this occurred to Nella Sefton, 
when, a few days later, she bade Verlie write to Rutledge 
Chester, expressing their sorrow at his great loss. 

It was long months before the letter reached Rutledge, 


189 


“it is best.” 

forwarded, as it had been, from place to place where he 
had been stopping. 

He answered it gratefully, thanking them for their 
kindly sympathy ; but no second letter came to him. 

He remained abroad for another year. Then the longing 
came to him to return once more to his own native land. 
He had suffered another great loss while abroad. At 
Venice his father had joined him. Two days after the 
steamer had left port, taking them to Paris, his father 
had died suddenly on shipboard. After this sad event, 
the longing was strong upon Rutledge to return home. 

Two weeks later he was once again in Washington. 
Society received handsome Rutledge Chester with open 
arms. He had always been a prime favorite with the 
young ladies, and they had not forgotten him, it seemed, 
judging from the cards he received. 

He went to few entertainments, however, and his 
friends were select and few. He did not care much for 
balls, and seldom went to them ; but he was induced 
one evening to attend the ball given by Mrs. Renwick, 
at her villa in the suburbs of the gay capital. He had 
decided at first not to go ; then, afterward, finding that 
a very intimate friend of his, Captain Lansing, was going, 
he changed his mind. 

“ We shall see some of the prettiest faces in Washing- 
ton there,” declared the captain, enthusiastically. 

“ That is not my weakness,” laughed Rutledge Ches- 
ter, good-humoredly. “ I would rather meet eminent 
politicians than pretty faces.” 

“ This ball is in honor of a young lady guest from 
some southern city, who is stopping with Mrs. Renwick. 
I have met no one like her. She is so beautiful.” 

Again Rutledge laughed at his friend’s enthusiasm. 


190 


THE RIVAL LOVERS. 


“ What is she like ?” he asked, more to please his friend 
than for any special interest he felt in the subject. 

“ I cannot describe her,” was the brief answer. 

“ Why not ?” asked Rutledge. 

“ If I were a poet I might find words in which to de- 
scribe her. As I am not, I do not know how to begin,” 
replied the young captain. “ She is simply the loveliest 
girl in the wide world. I only know that her hair seems 
to have caught the glory of the sunlight. It is gold, with 
a beautiful, natural ripple. Her eyes are like twin blue- 
bells, soft and velvety, beautifully, darkly blue. I can 
imagine that any man looking into such eyes would be 
lost, and forget everything else.” 

“ Have you looked into them ?” asked Rutledge, 
smiling. 

“ No,” was the fervent response. “1 wish I could. I 
have never yet been able to win one glance from her.” 

“ I take very little interest in such paragons,” said 
Rutledge, indifferently ; and this reply rather pleased 
the captain. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE RIVAL LOVERS. 

The grand ball-room was crowded when Rutledge and 
his frierfd reached the villa. Mrs. Renwick had often 
invited the senator’s handsome son to the villa, but he 
had never yet accepted an invitation. When she saw 
him enter the ball-room with Captain Lansing, she was 
delighted. She received him with the greatest empress- 


THE RIVAL LOVERS. 


191 


ment, and he could not help feeling just a little flattered. 
He passed on, the captain by his side. 

“ I should imagine, by the disconsolate expression of 
your face, you do not see your charming inamorata,” 
said Rutledge. 

“ No, she is not here,” returned the captain, adding : 
“I shall take but little interest in the ball until she does 
make her appearance.” 

Lovely girls passed them by, smiling their sweetest 
and challenging them with their bright, roguish eyes ; 
but the captain looked anxiously past them all toward 
the door. 

At length his face brightened up. 

“ She is here,” he said, with a thrill of delight. 
“Come, Rutledge, and I will present you to the queen 
of the ball.” And both of the young men crossed the 
room together. 

“She is always surrounded by a throng of admirers,” 
said the captain, impatiently. “ We shall be obliged to 
await our turn. I shall not be able to claim one waltz,” 
he said, noticing how quickly her tablet was being 
filled. 

“ Courage,” laughed Rutledge. “ A faint heart never 
wins fair lady ;” but he would not have said that a few 
hours later. 

“ I shall press forward and try my fate,” replied the 
captain, eagerly. “ I shall ask her for one waltz with 
the hope she may give me two.” 

“ I hope she will,” returned Rutledge, smiling at his 
friend’s earnestness. But one hour afterward he would 
not have expressed that hope. 

From his position he could not see the young girl’s 
face for the pretty fan she held before it. 

A moment later he was bowing low before her. 


192 


THE RIVAL LOVERS. 


“ Miss Sefton,” he heard the captain say, nervously, 
u allow me to present to you my friend, Mr. Chester.” 

Rutledge raised his eyes in the most intense surprise, 
his heart thrilling with a pleasure so keen it was almost 
pain. Surely it could not be — yes, it was — Verlie. 

The meeting with Rutledge was quite as much of a 
surprise and shock to Verlie. She was the first to 
recover her composure, however. 

“ Is it possible you did not know Mr. Chester is a 
relative of mine — by marriage ?” she asked, turning to 
the astonished captain, when the greeting was over. 
“The young wife whom he lost by death nearly two 
years ago was my beloved sister Uldene.” 

At that moment, much to the captain’s infinite annoy- 
ance, Mrs. Renwick, his hostess, came up to claim him. 
“I shall not leave you until you have promised me a 
waltz,” he said to Verlie, anticipating that that was the 
very favor Rutledge had intended to ask. 

“ I have just one waltz left,” said Verlie, smiling ; “ I 
shall be pleased to give it to you.” And that smile 
quite disturbed Rutledge Chester. 

Both gentlemen gazed for one instant into that 
bewitching girlish face, and they looked at each other 
sharply. The captain bowed and turned away, and, 
much against his will, followed his hostess from the 
spot. 

“ Verlie,” said Rutledge, when he found himself alone 
with her, “ will you come to the conservatory ? I have 
so much to say to you — so much to talk to you about.” 

She placed her little hand on his arm, but he did not 
notice how that little gloved hand trembled. He did 
not know the valiant effort she made to still the loud 
throbbing of her heart. 

Verlie had told herself long since that she had forgot- 


THE RIVAL LOVERS. 


193 


ten him ; that the love that had once filled her heart for 
him had died out ; but now, as she stood face to face 
with him again, she realized that her love for him was 
still warm in her heart, and the knowledge made poor 
Verlie doubly shy with him. 

As they stood among the flowers in the conservatory, 
listening to the splash of the perfumed water of the 
fountain, they talked of Uldene. It was a great surprise 
to Rutledge to hear that Verlie had never ceased writing 
each week to Uldene’s old address, but the letters had 
never been answered. 

How was he to know that beautiful, guilty Uldene 
had always torn these letters up, that the Seftons might 
lose all trace of her ? 

That half hour by the fountain neither of them ever 
forgot in all the long years of bitter pain and sorrow 
that followed. 

They both returned to the ball-room with a new, 
strange thrill in their hearts. 

The captain came up at once to claim Verlie for the 
waltz she had promised him, and away they floated 
together to the dreamy measures of the sweet dance 
music. 

The captain quite thought it was the pretty compli- 
ments he was paying her that brought that unusual 
flush to her cheeks and the unwonted sparkle to her 
bright blue eyes. How was he to know that she was 
recalling every look that had crossed Rutledge Chester’s 
handsome face as they stood together by the fountain, 
and every word he had uttered ? 

“ They make a very handsome couple — Verlie and the 
captain,” whispered his hostess, confidently. “I should 
not wonder if it would end in a match.” 

The careless words pierced Rutledge Chester’s heart 


194 


THE RIVAL LOVERS. 


like the thrust of a keen blade. ' The carelessly spoken 
words brought a strange, troubled thought to his heart. 
If the captain won Verlie Sefton for his bride, all the 
light and brightness of this world would be over for 
him. 

He had often persuaded himself into the belief that it 
had been simply admiration that had filled his heart in 
that never-to-be-forgotten past for sweet, golden-haired 
Verlie ; and that the love of his life had been given to 
Uldene, and his heart lay buried in her grave. 

But that sweet, sad love-story was of the beautiful 
past. Now it came to him with a sudden shock that, 
even as the branch may blossom twice, so love may 
bloom again — an oasis in a desert life ; a heart may 
yield for a second time to the magic witchery of love’s 
sweet dream. 

That night,* late as it was after the ball, Verlie found 
time to write a few lines home. The closing words of 
the hastily written letter were these : 

“ This ball was the most enjoyable of all, mother, dear. There 
was a longing in my heart that it might last forever. I must not 
forget to tell you a great surprise. Rutledge returned, two weeks 
ago, from Europe. We met at the ball to-night. He is the same 
Rutledge as of yore — a trifle graver and sadder, perhaps.” 

When Nella Sefton read those words she knew why 
Verlie had enjoyed the ball so much. 

From the night of the ball Rutledge became a daily 
visitor at the Renwick villa, much to the alarm of 
Captain Lansing, and the rest of the train of Verlie’s 
admirers. 

A sudden coolness sprang up between Rutledge and 
the captain. When one called, he was pretty certain to 
find the other there. There was something more than 


The rival lovers. 


195 


brotherly devotion in all this, the captain told himself, 
angrily, and he even went so far as to boldly hint to 
Rutledge : 

“ It was a wonder he had not selected Verlie in the 
first place, instead of her dark-eyed sister, Uldene.” 

Rutledge was strongly tempted to tell him that he 
had done so ; but out of respect to poor Uldene he 
would not reveal how his marriage to her had come 
about. 

“ If I were a suitor for her hand, and the young lady 
herself does not object, I do not see why any one else 
should,” Rutledge had retorted, hotly. 

From that hour these two, who had been life-long 
friends, became bitter rivals — enemies. 

“ I promise you I shall use every means in my power 
to prevent you from winning her,” retorted the captain. 
“ You take advantage of your position in the family to 
influence her against me ; but it will avail you little. I 
shall win her in spite of you, if I may be allowed the 
use of the term.” 

“ It has been said that ‘ all is fair in love and war/ ” 
said Rutledge, quietly. “ I, too, am equally determined 
to make Miss Sefton my bride. Words are useless ; it 
simply remains to see which of us she prefers.” 

They parted in the bitterest anger. Never, in this 
world, were two lovers more desperately determined to 
fight hard for a fair lady’s favor. 

As for Verlie herself, try as hard as she would to prevent 
her thoughts from clustering around Rutledge Chester, 
they would fly to him unbidden ; waking or dreaming, 
his face was always before her, — this handsome, kindly 
hero, whom she had loved in secret so long. But as she 
grew to love him more and more as the days rolled by, 
she avoided him, lest he should read her secret in her 


196 


EVERY HEART FINDS ITS TRUE MATE. 


eyes, by their glad welcome, or in the tell-tale blushes 
that rose to her cheeks as she greeted him. 

“ He could never love me" she often told herself, pite- 
ously ; “ he thinks of me only as Uldene’s sister — beau- 
tiful Uldene, whom he loved and lost. Once before I 
mistook friendly liking for love ; I shall not make the 
same mistake again.” 

Verlie’s avoidance of him was a strange puzzle to 
Rutledge. There were times when he thought she 
cared for him ; and then again, when he was most hope- 
ful, her apparent coldness would drive him to despair. 

At length the mad love in his heart would brook no 
delay. The fierce vivalry between Captain Lansing and 
himself must come to an end, he told himself. 

Verlie’s visit was drawing to a close. On the follow- 
ing week she was to return to Richmond, and each 
determined on the ensuing week to learn his fate. 

Rutledge Chester declared he should win her or die ; 
the captain vowed the same thing. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

EVERY HEART FINDS ITS TRUE MATE SOME TIME IN LIFE, 
FOR THIS IS FATE. 

The round of festivities of the season were to end in 
a lawn fete at the villa, and on this occasion Rutledge 
told himself he should learn his fate. 

As he entered the grounds, ablaze with electric lights 
and the flaming colored lanterns, the first person whom 
he met was the captain, who brushed past him with the 


EVERY HEART FINDS ITS TRUE MATE. 


197 


coldest nod courtesy would allow, and Rutledge could 
tell by his face this was to be a remembered evening in 
the captain’s life as well. 

Each felt certain the other would ask Verlie to be his 
wife ere the evening was over, and both watched desper- 
ately for the first opportunity. 

How sweetly fair Verlie looked in her simple white 
mull dress, her golden curls caught girlishly back by a 
knot of blue ribbon, with no ornaments save the cluster 
of forget-me-nots she wore on her breast. 

As Verlie was busy receiving her guests with her 
hostess, it was quite an hour before the captain could 
put the plan he had mapped out into execution, but at 
length fate favored him. He found Verlie alone for a 
moment. 

“Shall we make a tour of the grounds, Miss Sefton ?” 
he asked. “ I have something particular to say to you.” 

No thought of what he had to say crossed Verlie’s 
mind as she consented. 

She talked gayly enough in her gay, happy, girlish 
way as he led her away among the fragrant blooms. 
Suddenly it occurred to her that her companion was 
constrainedly silent. 

“ I do not believe you have heard a word I have said, 
Captain Lansing,” she said, demurely. “ I think I shall 
find you another companion — one who can chase away 
those dark shadows from your face. ,, 

“You can chase them away, if any one can, Verlie — 
Miss Sefton,” he said, huskily. “ Let me tell you what 
made me so silent. I was weighing a mighty problem 
in my mind.” 

Verlie raised her blue eyes in wonder to his face. 

He had stopped short in the moonlit path, and the 
tremulous elequence in his voice surprised her. 


198 


EVERY HEART FINDS ITS TRUE MATE. 


“It is this, Verlie,” he said, pressing the little white 
hand that lay so lightly on his arm. “ Has the great, 
overpowering love I have given you won love from you 
in return ? Forgive me if I have startled you,” he 
said, bowing his dark, handsome head nearer the golden 
one. “ I felt that I must speak to you, or die.” 

“ Don’t, Captain Lansing,” faltered Verlie, piteously ; 
“don’t speak to me so. I — I — cannot bear it. You 
must not love me. Indeed, you must not.” 

“ It is beyond the power of mortals to control the 
love that fills our hearts, little Verlie. Love is fate, and 
I would not help loving you were it even in my power 
to do so.” 

“ I have no heart to give you, Captain Lansing,” she 
said, turning her face away from him. “ Spare me ! 
Spare yourself !” 

“Do not turn away from me, Verlie,” cried her impet- 
uous lover. “ Give me some hope. I will devote my 
whole life to you, little Verlie. I would go through seas 
of blood. I — I would die to win you. I love you so 
dearly that I would rather be slain by one word from 
your lips than be blessed by any other love.” 

“ Oh, Captain Lansing,” cried Verlie, earnestly, “ I 
can realize what unreturned love is like ; but, oh, believe 
me, I can never love you. I am sorry.” 

“ You need not pity me,” he said. “ I want no pity. 
Death from your hands would be sweeter than life from 
another’s. Do not play with my heart, Verlie. I can- 
not bear it. Be patient with me if I have startled you 
so suddenly that you have had no time to reflect how 
dear I am to you.” 

“ He questioned not her love ; 

He only knew that he loved her.” 


EVERY HEART FINDS ITS TRUE MATE. 


199 


“ There can never be any love between us, Captain 
Lansing. It cannot be. Be my friend, even if nothing 
more.” 

“ I must be either your lover or nothing,” he cried, 
manfully striving to crush down his bitter disappoint- 
ment. Adding, bitterly : “ There can be no such thing 

when love has once entered the heart. Could I look 
into your eyes, feel the thrilling touch of your little 
hands, and simply crave your friendship ? No ! A 
thousand times no ! If you favored a — a rival, think 
you, Verlie, there could be any friendship between that 
rival and me ? No, again ! I should be his bitterest 
foe, were he my own brother. Such a deep, passionate 
love as mine is utterly selfish. No matter what the 
poets say, no man who loves can ever be satisfied with 
the crumbs of friendship.” 

For a moment a deep silence fell between them, broken 
only by the breeze sighing among the roses, as they fell 
in a fragrant shower about them. 

“You will give me hope, Verlie ?” he whispered, 
eagerly. 

“ I cannot, Captain Lansing,” she said, brokenly. 
“ Hate me — pity me — learn to forget me. I would love 
you if I could, but, alas ! I cannot.” 

“Tell me one thing,” he asked, huskily. “Do you 
care for any one else ?” 

He saw her beautiful golden head droop in girlish, 
piteous confusion — and he was answered all too plainly. 

He spoke no word. She had expected sorrow, per- 
haps anger, but she was not prepared for that great, 
wordless despair. The white, haggard face struck her 
with the keenest sorrow ; the anguish that lay in the 
dark eyes startled her, Years passing over him would 


200 


EVERY HEART FINDS ITS TRUE MATE. 


not have changed him as this had done. She was terri- 
fied at the awful change in him. 

“ Captain Lansing,” she faltered, in affright, putting 
out her little, fluttering hands toward him, “ oh ! what 
have I done ?” 

“ You have killed all that was bright in my life, dar- 
ling, that is all,” he said, in a voice husky with emotion. 
“ I have seen strong men weep over a blighted love- 
dream, and I have laughed at them and thought it the 
rankest folly ; and now, Heaven help me, I know the 
bitter cost of every heart-pang.” 

Oh ! how she sympathized with him ! Their sorrow 
was one in common. She loved Rutledge Chester in the 
same mad fashion this handsome young soldier loved 
her ; she pitied him, oh ! so sadly — but she had no love 
to give him. 

“ Let us go back to the lights and music, captain,” 
she said, timidly. And he offered her his arm silently 
and led her back to the gay, happy throng without 
another word. 

The moment Rutledge Chester — who had been pac- 
ing up and down the greensward in a fever of restless- 
ness at the prolonged absence of the captain and Verlie 
— beheld his rival’s face, he knew what had happened — 
Verlie had refused him. The captain could have died 
easier than remain one half-hour longer at the lawn fete. 
The lights, and the music, and the sound of gay young 
voices thrilled him with a strange pain. 

“ Bid me good-bye ; I am going, Verlie,” he said. “ I 
cannot stay to witness a rival’s triumph. I should feel 
like killing him before we left the grounds.” 

She shrank back in terror from the wild, suppressed, 
gleaming light in his eyes. 

“ On the slightest provocation I will challenge the 


EVERY HEART FINDS ITS TRUE MATE. 


201 


man you love to mortal combat,” he cried, fiercely, 
“and he shall kill me — or I shall kill him.” 

With those words he turned and left her, and she had 
cause to remember them until the day she died. 

“ He is no gentleman who dares threaten a lady !” 
cried an angry voice behind them ; but Captain Lansing 
paid no heed save to quicken his pace. He recognized 
the voice as Rutledge Chester’s, and he knew if he paused 
a single instant there would be a tragedy at the fete. 

“ Pardon me, Verlie,” cried Rutledge, coming hur- 
riedly up the path and taking the little, trembling, ice- 
cold hands in his as he bent over her ; “ I was coming 
up the path, and I could not help overhearing that 
cowardly remark, Think no more of it, I beg you.” 

The lovely dimpled face, framed in its sheen of golden 
hair, was as white as the snow-white blossoms she wore 
on her breast, and the lovely blue-bells of eyes were 
swimming in tears. 

She was trembling so violently he clasped her little 
hands still closer and drew her down the rose-bordered 
path to the rustic seat beneath the magnolia tree, and 
seated her upon it. 

“You sent him away, Verlie. Was it because you 
cared for any one else ?” he whispered, clinging firmly 
but gently to the little white hands that were struggling, 
like fluttering, imprisoned birds, to free themselves from 
his clasp. 

But she did not answer him. He could see a burning 
flush creep over the girl’s beautiful, dimpled face, and a 
strange thrill shot through his heart. Was Heaven to 
give him the desire of his heart at last ? he whispered to 
himself. 

“ Look up into my face and tell me if it is so, dear,” 
he said, gently, “ and that will give me hope.” 


202 


EVERY HEART FINDS ITS TRUE MATE. 



She attempted to fly from him in pretty, girlish con- 
fusion and dismay. She would not look at him — no, 
that she would not for worlds — for he would be sure to 

read the 
secret of 
her love 
for him 
in her 
eyes. 

“ My tim- 
id, beau- 
tiful Ver- 
liel” he cried, 
holding the lit- 
tle hands fast, 
despite her 
pleadings that 
he should re- 
lease her at 
once, for her 
guests would miss her. 

“ I shall not release 
you until you have an- 
swered my question, 
dear,” he said, his voice 
thrilling with eager ex- 
pectancy. “ Was it be- 
cause you cared for some one else — for me?” 

Only the night winds and the handsome, happy lover 
knew her answer ; but it must have been satisfactory, 
for the old, old story was told again, that young hearts 
always respond to and old hearts remember with mem- 
ories tender — the story of love’s young dream. When 


THE RIVAL LOVERS. 


203 


Rutledge parted from Verlie that night he raised her 
white hand to his lips, whispering, tenderly : 

“ Heaven has granted me the one yearning desire of 
my life, Verlie ! You love me ! You are to be my 
bride !” 

How little either of them dreamed what the dark future 
held in store for them, or how it was to end ! Ah ! if 
they had but known, how much misery might have been 
spared them ! 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE RIVAL LOVERS. 

“ The desire of my heart is granted, Verlie, ” said 
Rutledge Chester, tenderly. “ You have promised to be 
my bride, but there is one promise I must exact of you, 
and that is, that you will, from this time forth, discour- 
age the attentions of Captain Lansing.” 

“You must not commence by being jealous of me,” 
said Verlie, with an irresistible pout of her rosebud 
lips. “ I — could not endure a jealous lover.” 

“ I am jealous, my darling. I cannot help it,” he 
declared, frankly. “Jealousy runs in my blood. It is 
the curse of the Chesters. It has always been a matter 
of life and death with them. It has caused duels bitter 
and fierce. But there, I must not frighten you, my 
darling.” 

“You must trust me, Rutledge,” returned Verlie, ear- 
nestly, “because I am betrothed to you. I cannot be 
rude to others, now can I ?” 


204 


THE RIVAL LOVERS. 


“ If you smile upon any one save myself I shall feel 
like taking you away from him instantly,” he said. “I 
could not bear to see that kind of thing going on. I 
should long to take your hand before them all, and say : 
‘ She is mine. Flatter, woo, covet as much as you will, 
she is mine ; you have not the least chance of winning 
her.’ I have a special aversion toward Captain Lansing. 
If you wish to please me, Verlie, do not dance with him 
again to-night.” 

“I think I may safely promise that, for he left me in 
anger as you came up, you know. I am quite sure he 
has left the villa.” 

“ So much the better,” declared Rutledge ; but his 
satisfaction was premature, for, raising his eyes, he saw 
the captain hurriedly approaching, his face quite as calm 
as though nothing out of the order of events had 
transpired. 

He had fled from the grounds in hot haste ; but as he 
reached the arched gateway he experienced quite a 
revulsion of feelings. 

“ Why should I leave the field so completely to my 
foe?” he asked himself, fiercely. No, he would not. 
Verlie had refused him. Still, “ faint heart never yet 
won fair lady.” He remembered Verlie had promised 
to waltz with him. Why not claim it in spite of all ? 

With the impulsive captain, to think was to act. He 
turned on his heel and sauntered back into the grounds 
again, searching eagerly among the merry, chattering 
throng for Verlie. At last he beheld her standing under 
a blossoming magnolia tree. 

He frowned and bit his lip angrily upon seeing Rut- 
ledge Chester beside her. He glanced at the lovely face 
aflame with color, and wondered what Rutledge had 
been saying to her that brought the beautiful blushes to 


THE .RIVAL LOVERS. 


205 


her dimpled cheeks, and the brightness to her blue eyes. 
And Verlie, to hide her confusion, began talking hastily 
to the young captain. 

This encouraged Captain Lansing wonderfully, and 
his hopes, which had been considerably below zero, 
commenced to rise rapidly. 

“ She wishes to show me that she prefers my society 
to my rival’s,” he thought, delightedly. 

Then the sweet music of the “ Bluebells of Scotland ” 
waltz floated out to them. 

“ This is our waltz, Miss Sefton,” cried the captain, 
eagerly. “ It was the remembrance of this waltz which 
you had promised me that brought me back,” he said, 
in a low undertone. 

Verlie gave one timid glance at Rutledge’s face from 
under her golden lashes, and saw that it had grown 
sombre, and the eyes that met hers were gleaming with 
the jealousy he had predicted. She hesitated, and the 
captain asked, reproachfully : 

“ Have I done anything, Verlie — Miss Sefton — to cause 
you to refuse ?” 

“I have not refused,” she answered. “ If I make a 
promise, I am quite willing to keep it.” 

Verlie wished with all her heart that she could have 
declined, just to please Rutledge ; but as she had no 
reasonable excuse to offer, she placed her white hand 
on his arm and permitted him to lead her away. 

She gave Rutledge a pleading look that said as 
plainly as eyes can speak : 

“ You see I cannot help it.” 

But Rutledge turned away, and would not understand 
that silent message ; and to make matters worse, in his 
jealousy of his handsome rival he avoided Verlie for 


206 


THE RIVAL LOVERS. 


the next hour. Yet his gloomy eyes haunted herwhere- 
ever she went. 

“ If he is really to be as jealous as this, what am I to 
do?*’ thought Verlie, in dismay. 

Twice she was quite alone, and she certainly thought 
Rutledge would seize the opportunity of coming to 
her ; but he did not. She would have given the world 
to have gone up to him and said : 

“You need not fear, Rutledge, my love. I do not 
care for the captain. I love you — only you, dear. I 
have loved you longer and better than you ever knew 
from the first moment we met.” 

It was his place to come to her. She could not go to 
him. 

Yet, when he passed by -where she sat, without so 
much as glancing in her direction, she could not resist 
calling out, softly : 

“ Rutledge !” 

He turned hastily at the sound of the sweet voice, as 
though he was astonished to find her there so near him ; 
but, man-like, he had intended to turn around and walk 
straight back to her and take a seat by her side if she 
did not call him when he passed. He raised his eyes in 
apparent surprise. 

“ Did you speak, Miss Verlie ?” he asked, stiffly. 

“Yes, Rutledge,” responded Verlie, shyly. “Won’t 
you come here ? I — I — would like to talk to you.” 

“ I thought you preferred talking to Captain Lansing/’ 
he answered. “You certainly seem to prefer dancing 
with him. I fear I may be de trop again.” 

“You know that is not the truth, Rutledge,” she said. 
“ I cared to dance with you, but I had given my prom- 
ise. I was obliged to keep it, you know. Do not be 
angry with me, Rutledge.” 


TBe rival Lovers. 


207 


“ I could not help it,” he answered, flushing hotly. 
“You must forgive me, Verlie. I hate myself for being 
such a jealous simpleton. But, ah, I love you so well, 
Verlie ; and somehow, I am troubled with the harrowing 
thought, that grows into a foreboding, almost, that I 
may lose you. I shall never feel absolutely sure of you 
until we stand at the altar together. I have felt so 
wretched this past hour,” he whispered, “ I felt like 
killing myself, or doing something quite as desperate and 
reckless. I could never endure such an evening of 
torture again. When you know that it pains me to see 
you kind to Captain Lansing, why will you persist in it, 
my darling ?” 

The lovely blue eyes were raised reproachfully to 
Rutledge’s flushed, handsome face. Ah ! if he only 
knew what little cause he had for jealousy ! He would 
never realize how dearly she loved him. He was to her 
what the sun is to the flowers, the light of day to the 
earth. With him her life would be perfect. Without 
him it would be a pitiful blank. 

On this eventful evening a slim figure, wearing a long 
dark traveling cloak, her face concealed by a thick vail, 
had stepped off the southern express that had steamed 
into the gay capital. It was beautiful, hapless Uldene. 

“ I am mad to come here,” she murmured, brokenly, 
under her sobbing breath. “ But I must see him ! I 
must look upon his face again, or die ! 

“It is two years since that fatal railway accident 
occurred in which he believed I had lost my miserable 
life. Ah ! would to Heaven that I had ! 

“While he, my young husband, has been traveling 
abroad, seeking in vain to look calmly upon life without 
me, how has it fared with me ? 

“ How I usred to laugh in madame’s face at boarding- 


208 


THE RIVAL LOVERS. 


school when she used to say, ‘ If you are ever called upon 
to battle with the world, Uldene, you can earn your bread 
by giving music lessons. Ah, child ! you are a genius 
in music.’ ” 

In the darkest hour of Uldene’s life those words came 
back to her — when she found herself alone, friendless 
and penniless, thrown upon her own resources in a cold, 
hard, pitiless world. 

It was no easy task securing pupils with all her skill, 
and many a time Uldene was reduced to positive want — 
she who had known every luxury, every pleasure. 

In hard work alone she sought to drown the yearning 
cry of her soul for Rutledge. Oh, if she could but look 
upon him just once more, she could go away forever, 
her heart at peace. How often she thought of the pitiful 
lines that seemed almost to have been written especially 
for her : 

“ Only to see his face again, full of beauty and of grace ; 

One little prayer — ’tis all I ask — only to see his face.” 

When Uldene picked up the morning paper one day, 
and read among the personals the return of Rutledge 
Chester, and that he would spend a few weeks in Wash- 
ington, she raised her face to the smiling, sunlit heavens, 
crying out : 

“ I cannot be so near him without looking on his face 
just once — only once ! Then I will go quietly away 
again, and live my lonely life out. My starved heart 
will be satisfied.” 

She had read that her husband was stopping at Wil- 
lard’s Hotel, and thither she bent her steps. Just as she 
was abreast of the entrance, two gentlemen hurriedly 
passed her and entered a coach in waiting. One of them 


BE MY BRIDE, VERLIE. 


209 


cc 


55 


she recognized in that fleeting glimpse as Rutledge — her 
Rutledge. 

She did not cry out or utter any moan, but her joy 
was so great at beholding him that it made her faint and 
dizzy. 

“To the Renwick Villa, A Avenue, Number — ,” she 
heard him say. 

Ah, yes! she remembered the place well. 

She stood quite motionless, gazing with tear-blinded 
eyes after the rapidly disappearing coach. Poor Uldene ! 
in her pitiful love for him, she could have knelt down 
and kissed the cold pavement over which his dear feet 
had passed. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

“ BE MY BRIDE, VERLIE,” WHISPERED RUTLEDGE. 

It was quite two miles to Renwick Villa. Uldene 
knew the road well. She would have no conveyance, 
and undertook the journey on foot. 

“ She would follow Rutledge there,” she told herself, 
“creep into, the grounds of the villa unobserved, and 
watch him through the window.” 

She could not withstand the temptation. 

How brightly the moon shone down upon the earth, 
bathing the trees, the flowers, and the white, winding 
road in its silvery light. How the golden stars glowed 
in the blue sky. 

The birds had folded their wings and sought their 
nests among the leafy branches ; the flowers had folded 


210 


“be my bride, verlie.” 

the dew-drops close to their hearts with their tender 
petals, and were rocked to sleep by the gentle night 
winds. 

Uldene passed slowly along the well remembered 
road, tears falling like rain from her dark eyes. Ah ! 
how often she had cantered over that same road, riding 
by Rutledge Chester’s side. How gay and roseate the 
world had looked to her then ! 

Could she be the same creature, changed so completely ? 
The beautiful bride, Uldene, whom every one petted, 
worshiped and spoiled, and who was fairly idolized for 
her beauty and pretty, wilful ways? Now, dead to the 
world — a living lie — flying like one accursed from him 
whom she loved better than life itself, lest the family 
doom should fall upon him whom she loved so well. 

At last an abrupt curve in the road brought her in 
sight of the villa, and then she saw by the brilliantly 
illuminated grounds, the merry throngs, and the music, 
that a lawn fete was in progress, which would, no doubt, 
end in a grand ball. 

Rutledge had come to the lawn fete. It hurt her 
heart a little — the thought that he could mingle in gay 
festivities while he believed her lying cold in death in 
the lonely graveyard. No doubt he came there to 
drown his sad thoughts for a brief hour. Ah, yes ! that 
must be it. 

No one saw the white, wistful face peering in through 
the scroll-work of the tall iron fence. 

Uldene was not near enough to distinguish many of 
the faces. A great longing came to her to enter the 
grounds. She remembered there was a small wicket in 
the rear of the house ; toward this she made her way, 
entered the grounds, and stole up the lilac walk to the 
rose-arbor beyond ; sinking down exhausted on the rus- 


211 


“be my bride, verlie.” 

tic bench, quite hidden by the drooping branches and 
the dense shadows. 

Here she could have a full view of the grounds and 
the merry revelers. She knew it was hazardous, daring 
to venture here, lest some one should see her and recog- 
nize her ; but her intense longing to see Rutledge, 
remaining the while unseen herself, had overcome 
prudence. 

A moment later and the fall of a light footstep, that 
seemed strangely familiar to her, sounded on her ears. 

“ Am I mad, or do I dream ?” she murmured, aghast. 
“ It is — Verlie ! What can she be doing here ? I did not 
know she knew Mrs. Renwick !” 

How calm and placid Verlie’s sweet face, crowned in 
its sheen of golden hair, looked in the white bright 
moonlight. 

“ Life would have been so different with both of us if 
I had not cheated her out of her lover/’ thought Uldene, 
with a sob. Still she knew Verlie loved her so dearly 
she would have given her lover up to her, even at the 
cost of breaking her own heart. Ah, yes ! Uldene knew 
that well. 

She knew, too, how Verlie must have grieved over her 
supposed death, refusing to be comforted. 

A great longing swept over her lonely, yearning heart 
to creep after Verlie, to fall on her knees before her, 
cling to the little white hands, and sob out to Verlie all 
her pitiful story — surely the saddest that was ever 
locked in a young girl’s breast. 

Oh, how Verlie would gather her in her arms and 
weep over her as she told her piteous story ! She would 
readily agree with her that Rutledge must believe her 
dead, although it was cruel, oh, so cruel, to break two 
hearts by keeping them asunder. 


212 “be my bride, verlie.” 

Poor, hapless Uldene — always a creature of impulse 
— stole after Verlie as she passed the flower-beds, the 
lilac and magnolia walks. Both had crossed the star- 
lighted park, and were nearing the shadows of the trees 
but a few feet apart. 

“ Verlie !” called Uldene, softly. 

But Verlie did not hear the low voice, so engrossed 
was she in her own tumultuous thoughts. 

Uldene was silent for a moment. A bird flew from its 
nest in the nearest tree ; a rabbit rustled in the brush- 
wood ; the wind stirred some fallen leaves ; the sound 
of the dance music in the distance died away in a low 
waiL 

“Verlie !” she called again, more softly than before. 

The girl paused in startled, solemn wonder. 

“ It must be only fancy, ” she murmured, half aloud. 
“ On this night, of all nights, the memory of Uldene 
haunts me. Even the winds sighing among the trees 
seem to whisper to me with Uldene’s voice. Heaven 
grant that it is no sin to love him, even though he 
belonged to Uldene first.” 

Before Uldene could speak again, another step came 
swiftly down the graveled walk. With a quick motion 
Uldene drew back among the dense shadows of the trees 
until he should pass. 

Ah, heavens ! it was Rutledge Chester. He was 
almost abreast of her now. She never knew how she 
restrained the mad impulse to cry out to him : “ Rut- 

ledge ! Rutledge ! weep for me no more. Mourn for 
me no longer, my love ! I am here !” Oh, how her 
soul went out to him ! He had brushed the drooping 
branches of the trees carelessly aside with his hand as 
he passed them. He would never know of the lonely 


213 


“be my bride, verlie.” 

figure that stood under them, passionately kissing the 
green leaves his hand had touched. 

She saw him join Verlie ; but instead of passing on 
with a nod and a smile, or some gay word, he quietly 
drew the little white hand within his arm, exclaiming, 
in a glad voice : 

“ Here you are, Verlie, darling. I have been search- 
ing everywhere for you. I am sure you ran away to 
avoid me.” 

The girl crouching behind the flowering shrubs, which 
separated her from these two, listened in wonder. His 
voice had never sounded like that when he addressed 
her. There was an under-current in it that puzzled 
her. 

She saw Verlie’s fair, sweet face flush hotly in the 
bright white moonlight. She looked up at Rutledge 
with a smile, drawing in girlish, bashful confusion 
away from his outstretched arms, answering, confusedly : 

“I did not know that you were searching for me — 
that you wanted me, Rutledge.” 

His reply was like the shock of doom to the beautiful, 
hapless creature listening to them both so intently. 

“ You did not know that I wanted you ! Oh, Verlie, 
what nonsense ! Is there a moment in my life that I 
do not want you, my darling ?” 

These were the words that broke a human heart ! 

Clearly, through the solemn stillness of the summer 
night, the words fell from Rutledge Chester’s lips upon 
the heart of the beautiful, solitary figure crouched 
among the flowering shrubs. 

Rutledge believed himself quite alone with Verlie ; 
he could speak his thoughts freely now. 

“You avoid me purposely, Verlie, that I may not tell 


214 “be my bride, verlie.” 

you what is in my heart. You must have read what I 
wanted to say in my eyes, you cruel dear.” ' 

“ Oh, Rutledge !” breathed Verlie, shuddering, “ I — I 
— cannot bear to hear any more to-night. It almost 
seems as though the spirit of Uldene comes between 
us. I almost think I ought not to listen to you. You 
belonged to her living — it almost seems that you belong 
to her even though she is dead.” 

“ Verlie,” he answered, gravely, “ I agree with you. I 
belonged to Uldene while she lived, but the love of 
mortals blends into tender, devoted memory when one 
or the other, whom God joined together in holy wed- 
lock, dies. Heaven knows I did my duty, my whole 
duty, by my beautiful Uldene. I gave her every 
thought of my heart — my whole love. I have worn my 
life out in grieving over her untimely fate. Now, 
because Heaven has sent a balm to my sorely wounded 
heart, do not seek to hurl it back into bitter despair 
again. It is our duty to forget a dark, sorrowful past, 
and try to live in the brightness of — a future. I shall 
always love and reverence the memory of Uldene ; but, 
because of that, do not, I implore you, withold your love 
from me, Verlie ; it would be unjust.” 

“ Am I mad, or do I dream ?” sobbed the wretched 
girl who watched these two, who were so utterly obli- 
vious of her presence. 

What Verlie’s answer was she never knew. She saw 
Rutledge clasp the little white hands he held fondly — 
bend his handsome head over them, and raise them to 
his lips tenderly. 

“ Remember, Verlie,” Rutledge went on, pitilessly, 
“ I have told you the exact truth as to how I happened 
to wed Uldene — not but what I loved her well after she 
became my bride, — but you, Verlie, were my first as well 


215 


“rest in the dark waters.” 

as my last love ; but for that strange death-bed prayer, 
it is you whom I should have asked to become my 
bride.” 

The words fell like drops of molten lead upon the 
breaking heart so near them. The swaying figure had 
sunk down among the sharp thorns and brambles, but 
she did not even feel the pain of them. The earth and 
sky seemed to meet above her ; the leaves of the trees 
seemed to moan in the night-wind ; the moon hid her 
sorrowful face in the white clouds. 

If the hand of God had stricken beautiful, hapless 
Uldene dead, the white face, upturned to the night skies, 
could not have been whiter. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

“ I COULD FIND REST IN THE DARK WATERS,” SHE MUR- 
MURED, PITEOUSLY. 

Uldene crouched motionless among the swaying roses, 
like one turned to stone, looking and listening. In that 
moment the great, yearning love in her heart was slain ; 
no words could picture such grief as hers. It would 
have been a thousand times more merciful if Heaven, in 
its infinite mercy, had let her die that night in the awful 
collision, than let her live to face this. 

The moon in all its rounds, looking down in its pure 
white light upon sin, suffering, pain, and all human woes, 
never looked upon a sadder sight. 

“ In my thoughts I go over the past time and time 
again,” continued Rutledge Chester, slowly. “ In the 


216 


“rest in the dark waters.” 

moment you and Uldene stood before me, my heart 
went out to you. Beautiful as Uldene was, she was not 
the mate my heart craved. Imagine my intense surprise, 
Verlie, upon making the discovery, in an unexpected 
manner, that Uldene loved me. I was amazed, bewildered 
at the worshipful love a human heart had lavished 
upon one who had not sought it. 

“ I was intensely sorry for Uldene, ” he went on, 
huskily, “ and through pity that marriage was consum- 
mated. In the after days I saw the folly of giving the 
hand where the heart could never go. 

“ Since Heaven has severed the bonds that united me 
to Uldene, and I have again met you, I have begun to 
realize that the sweet possibilities of life are not yet over 
for me. The happiest hour of my life will be the 
moment in which I call you mine, Verlie, darling.” 

They passed on, arm in arm, through the lilac grove, 
over the moonlit lawn, making a tour of the circular 
path. 

They must not find Uldene there when they reached 
that spot again. 

Like a hunted hare, Uldene sprang to her feet,, hurry- 
ing through the pleasure grounds, through the arbor, 
and into the heart of the grove that lay beyond. 

No human being was near ; but the birds were soon 
startled by the passionate cries of a broken heart ; cries 
that fell freely and clearly on the soft, sweet air, and 
seemed to pierce the heavens ; bitter, passionate cries 
that took with them the burden of a most unhappy soul. 

After a time they died away — the moans and sobs 
ended. 

The girl lay among the crushed goldenrods, with 
wide-open, horror-stricken eyes, looking the future full 
in the face. 


217 


“rest in the dark waters.” 

“ Oh, broken dream of love ! — oh, dark future, with- 
out one gleam of light !— -how was it to end ? 

“ How strange it was that the thought had never 
occurred to me of the possibility of Rutledge re-marry- 
ing, believing himself free,” she moaned out, piteously. 

Ah, no, she had never dreamed that his heart, having 
once been hers, would return again to Verlie, his first 
love. 

How cruelly Heaven had punished her for taking him 
from Verlie in that dark past. Oh, the pity of it ! the 
pity of it ! 

A step among the brushwood startled her. What if 
some one passing that way should happen to find her ! 
What a terrible expose there would be. 

Her future mattered little enough to her now. She 
would go quietly away. Rutledge and Verlie should 
never know she lived. He had not grieved for her 
untimely fate. 

It was no bitter sorrow to him that matters had turned 
out as they had, for it left him free to woo and win his 
first love. The words of an old poem, even in that 
moment of acute sorrow, recurred to her : 

“ Compulsion may a while detain 

The magnet from its accustomed course ; 

But when not withheld by force 
It travels to the north again.” 

As “ the magnet, when not withheld by force,” Rut- 
ledge Chester’s heart had returned to Verlie again. 

There was nothing to do now but go out of his life 
quietly. It mattered little enough where she went. 

Silently she turned her beautiful face from all she had 
loved best on earth, and crept slowly out of the grounds 


218 


“rest in the dark waters.” 

and away from the villa, without casting one glance 
behind. 

How the sound of the light, gay dance music and the 
rippling laughter of merry, girlish voices tortured her ! 
Would they laugh so gayly if they knew a heart so near 
them had broken to-night ? she wondered vaguely. 

<c Good-bye, lost love, whom I have loved so well !” 
she sobbed. “ Good-bye, fair face, that has won him 
from even my memory ! I shall never look on either 
of you again.” 

Like a shadow Uldene flitted down the white moon- 
lit road, never pausing until she found herself on the 
wharf that overlooked the river. 

Ah ! how peaceful it looked, reflecting the myriads of 
silver stars in its clear depths ! 

“ Down there I could find rest !” she murmured, pit- 
eously, clasping her trembling hands close together, and 
gazing down into the limpid water like one fascinated 
by a subtle thought. 

Suddenly a hand was laid on her arm, and a gentle 
voice murmured softly in her startled ear : 

^ “ Whatever your sorrows may be, my poor child, do 
not contemplate that !” 

Uldene started back with a cry of dismay, and saw 
standing before her a young girl, neatly but poorly 
dressed, with an earnest, pale face, and large, dark, sad 
eyes. 

“ I was not thinking of drowning myself,” said Uldene, 
with a shudder. “ I would not have such a sin on my 
soul as that — bitterly as I may have been tempted to 
do so.” 

“I am glad to hear it,” returned her companion, “ for 
many a young girl with whom the world has gone 
wrong comes here for that purpose and no other.” 


219 


“rest in the dark waters.” 

i was wondering, as I stood here, where I had better 
go,” said Uldene, wearily. 

“ Have you no home — no mother ?” asked the gentle 
stranger. 

Uldene burst into tears. 

“ My mother died when I was a babe,” she sobbed, 
“and my one cry to Heaven by night and by day since 
is — why did not God take me, too, when my young- 
mother died ? Life has been a cruel curse to me.” 

“ You say you were thinking of where you could go 
for the night,” said the gentle stranger. “Will you not 
come home with me? I am one of the bread-winners. 
My lodging is of the plainest, yet I will share it, such 
as it is, with you to-night.” 

Emily Lennox did not quite like the wild, despairing 
light in the dark eyes of the beautiful, sobbing young 
girl she had found gazing breathlessly down into the 
smiling waters of the deep flowing river. 

More than one young girl this good angel (as those 
who knew her called her) had snatched from an untimely 
fate. 

She had expected she would have to persuade Uldene 
to accompany her from this alluring spot ; but to her 
surprise the young girl consented readily enough. 

“ You are very kind,” said Uldene, gratefully. “ I will 
go with you gladly. I was wondering a few moments 
before where I should find a lodging-place, my — my 
means are so limited,” she added, flushing painfully. 

“ Then come with me,” said Emily, drawing the little 
white hand within her own. She was surprised to see 
how delicate and dainty it was — like those of fortune’s 
favorites, who “ neither toil nor spin.” “ I have a great 
horror of seeing a young girl stand where you did, with 
such a look on her face,” continued Emily, “ for not very 


220 


REST IN THE DARK WATERS. 




3 ? 


long ago I stood in the self-same place, eagerly watching 
my opportunity to plunge beneath those waves, and leave 
the world which had narrowed down to a grave for me.” 

For a brief moment Uldene forgot her own intense 
sorrow in listening to her companion. 

“Would you like to hear what tempted me to such 
rash folly ?” asked Emily, seeing she had attracted her 
companion’s attention. “ I can tell you as we walk 
home.” 

“I should like to hear, if the memory of it is not too 
painful,” assented Uldene, readily. 

“Love drove me to it,” replied Emily, calmly — “love, 
that brings with it either a blessing or a curse to the 
hearts of women who indulge in its golden dreams. But 
to the story : There was one whom I loved better than 
life itself, a fair-haired, handsome lover, who had placed 
the betrothal ring on my finger, and named the day I 
should be his bride. 

“One day a girl friend came to pay me a visit. She 
was as gay and handsome as I was quiet and plain. I 
was not inclined to be jealous by nature, but when I 
introduced my lover to my lovely friend a pang like the 
bitterness of death smote through my heart as I saw 
with keen eyes the gaze of rapt admiration he bent on 
her. I saw all that happened after as in a glass, darkly. 
You can guess the result. My friend won my lover 
from me, and on the eve they were wedded I crept out 
here to die, and end my woe. I flung myself into the 
water with a bitter cry. Oh ! I loved him better than 
life ! I was saved, and I knew then my time had not 
yet come. God intended me to live and endure. I was 
needed in this world. Slowly the thought came to me 
what duty Heaven had assigned to me. I afterwards 
realized it was to save young girls from the fate that 


ULDENE FINDS A FRIEND. 


221 


had so nearly been mine. I pass this way from my work 
at night, and many a young girl I rescue from a suicide’s 
fate.” 

“ Oh ! how I pity you !” sobbed Uldene. “ There is 
no pain in this world so great as the pain the heart 
endures when one finds the one whom we love has given 
his heart to another. Oh, poor girl ! I can understand 
what you have suffered but too well. Death would have 
been welcome rather than face life after that with such 
a sword rankling in the heart.” 

As Emily listened she realized that the beautiful girl 
before her had a tragic love-story, as pitiful, perhaps, as 
her own which she had related ; and Emily determined 
to bring this young girl and her lover together again, if 
it lay within human power, little dreaming fate itself had 
set its seal of defiance against this. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

ULDENE FINDS A FRIEND. 

Uldene was conducted by her strange companion into 
a narrow side street, and after traversing it for some 
length, she stopped before a small, unpretentious cottage, 
and opening the gate, she bade Uldene follow her in. 

“ I have two small rooms here,” Miss Lennox explained. 
“ I rent them of the widow lady who owns the cottage. 
I am employed in the dressmaking establishment of 
Madame Dubois, on A Avenue.” 

Uldene was ushered into a scantily furnised but scru- 
pulously neat apartment, and bade to remove her hat 


222 


ULDENE FINDS A FRIEND. 


and sacque. In vain during the hours that followed 
were Miss Lennox’s attempts to draw from her guest’s 
lips her history — who she was, or from whence she 
came. 

“ You have been kind to me, a stranger, yet I cannot 
confide to you the pitiful story that makes my life a 
blank,” said Uldene, her large, dark, pathetic eyes fill- 
ing with tears. “ I will carry it down to the grave with 
me unrevealed.” 

“ I am sorry,” said Emily, pityingly. “ I thought per- 
haps I could help you.” 

“ How could you he)p me when Heaven itself is against 
me ?” sobbed Uldene, bitterly. “ My life has been a 
mistake, and has gone all wrong from beginning to end. 
There is no help for it, no way out of it. I am entangled 
in a web woven by fate.” 

“ Do you intend remaining in the city ?” asked Emily, 
attempting to change the subject, which she saw was so 
bitterly painful to the lovely young stranger. 

“If I could find something to do,” faltered Uldene. 
She had realized it would be the worst thing she could 
undertake to attempt to find pupils for music here ; her 
face was so well known her identity would be sure to 
be discovered. 

“ I am sure that I can help you in that way,” responded 
Emily. “ Madame was saying only yesterday we needed 
at least two more young ladies in the establishment. I 
will use my influence with her to try to get you in.” 

“ How shall I ever thank you ?” murmured Uldene. 

“ By not attempting it,” responded Emily, promptly. 
“ I am always glad to extend a helping hand to young 
girls who are inclined to help themselves ; it’s every 
one’s duty. It is late now,” said Emily. “ We won’t talk 


ULDENE FINDS A FRIEND. 


223 


about it any more to-night. You shall go with me in 
the morning to see madame." 

Although Uldene lay down upon the snow-white, 
inviting couch, no sleep came to her that night. All 
through the dreary, moonlit hours her dark, curly head 
tossed restlessly to and fro. and the dark, sombre eyes 
never closed. She could not still the voice in her heart 
that kept repeating : “ He did not mourn for your loss. 

He was thankful to be set free that he might wed her 
whom he had never ceased to love. How bitterly he 
would hate you if you came back from the grave to part 
them.” 

“Oh, Rutledge ! my lost love !” moaned poor Uldene, 
under her breath, “ would that I had died rather than 
live to witness your love for another !” 

Early the next morning Miss Lennox and Uldene pre- 
sented themselves at Madame Dubois’ establishment. 

The madame looked in wonder at the wondrously beau- 
tiful face before her. 

“ I should like to take her in,” she said, aside, to 
Emily, “ but I dare not on account of my son. No, no, 
Emily ; I dare not. Something warns me I must not. I 
feel it in my heart.” 

“ She is so young and friendless,” said Miss Lennox ; 
“and with a face like that, it would be most dangerous 
to cast her adrift on the world.” 

“That is true,” responded madame, nervously. “But 
what greater danger could she encounter, Emily, than 
meeting my son ? There is a skeleton in every house- 
hold. You know what ours is. Therefore, I say, it 
would be best not to take her in.” 

A happy thought occurred to Emily. 

“You send out a great deal of work, madame. Why 
not give her work to do outside ?” 


224 


ULDENE FINDS A FRIEND. 


“ She is a stranger to me, Emily. I had rather not, 
unless you choose to be responsible for it and madame 
smiled faintly. 

“ I am perfectly willing to agree to that arrangement,” 
responded Emily, bravely. “I cannot tell why, but I 
take a great interest in this young girl, and I cannot 
help the conviction which steals over me, that if I 
should not watch over her she would destroy herself.” 

“ You are an angel to the wretched and needy,” replied 
Madame Dubois, warmly. “ You shall have your way. 
I suppose your protegee will share your apartments, in 
that case, for the present.” 

“We have made that arrangement, madame,” said 
Emily. 

A few moments later she crossed the room to where 
Uldene was sitting. 

“ Miss Dean,” she said — that was the name Uldene 
chose to call herself — “ fate or Providence, whichever 
you will, has been kind. Madame Dubois will furnish 
you employment. It will be sent you at the cottage.” * 

“ I am very thankful to madame, and to you ,” responded 
Uldene, gratefully. 

The next two weeks dragged slowly by. It was only 
by hard work Uldene forgot for a moment the bitter pain 
at her heart. 

She had promised herself, after gazing upon the face 
that was dearer than life itself to her, she would go 
quietly away ; but she found herself too weak to carry 
out her resolve. She must be near him though separated 
from him as far as the earth from the sun. 

At the end of the second week a pitiful event hap- 
pened, that changed the current of three lives. One 
rainy morning, one of the shop boys of Madame Dubois 
brought Emily a large bundle of work from the estab- 


TTLDENE FINDS A FRIEND. 


225 


lishment, with 'the message it might be completed at her 
home, if she preferred, as the young lady whom the work 
was for would call there, in the course of an hour, to 
give instructions concerning it. 

“ Oh, yes, it is the bridesmaid’s dress that came in to 
madame yesterday,” said Miss Lennox, unwrapping the 
bundle, and disclosing to view soft, billowy folds of 
white surah silk and old point lace. 

Uldene bent over it with a sigh. It brought with it 
such painful recollections of the life, so short and sweet, 
which she had put behind her forever. 

“ Beautiful ! is it not ?” said Emily. “ And it is a 
beautiful young girl, indeed, who is to wear it. Yes, 
Miss Neddy Temple will look almost as sweet as the 
bride, I think.” 

“ Neddy Temple !” 

How the name startled Uldene. 

“ Miss Neddy will be very particular over it, I’m sure,” 
pursued Emily, “for it is to be worn at one of the 
grandest weddings we have had this season. The bride- 
groom is handsome and very wealthy. He is the son of 
the late Senator Chester. Why, Miss Dean, what are 
you doing ? You’re dropping the ice water all over the 
beautiful white surah silk!” gasped Emily, in dismay, 
as she sprang to rescue it from Uldene’s lap. “ Are you 
going to faint, Miss Dean ?” she asked, gazing anxiously 
into the beautiful white face. “You look as though you 
had seen a ghost.” 

“ I have seen a ghost of the past ; it has confronted 
me,” Uldene muttered silently to herself. But aloud 
she answered : “ I did feel a little faint. I am better 
now. Have I ruined the surah silk ?” 

“ I took it from you just in time to prevent your doing 
so,” smiled Emily. 


226 


ULDENE FINDS A FRIEND. 


“ I was telling you about the wedding which this is 
to be worn at,” she went on, holding the half-fashioned 
dress off at arm’s length to admire it. 

“ It quite startled me when I read the announcement 
of handsome Rutledge Chester’s approaching marriage. 
It carried me back to a pitiful paragraph I read in the 
papers about two years ago, about the death of his first 
bride. Ah, me ! how time flies! Two years ! 

“ She lived in the great stone house on the hill, and 
they say she was as beautiful as a poet’s dream — those 
who have seen her. I wonder that he could ever have 
forgotten her so far as to marry again, poor lady ! Alas ! 
nowadays they are scarcely off with the old love before 
they are on with the new. 

“ It was rumored a few months ago that Mr. Chester 
was to wed pretty Neddy Temple when they met abroad 
last year ; but it seems that the rumor was false. He 
had another lady-love in his mind’s eye. As for Miss 
Neddy — Miss Dean, surely you are ill ! You are going 
to faint.” 

“ No !” muttered Uldene, piteously. But, despite her 
denial, she suddenly threw up her white hands and fell 
face downward in a death-like swoon to the floor at 
Emily’s feet. 

Poor, tortured soul ! she had borne all she could. 
Had her heart broken with one awful throb in her bosom 
at last ? 

Quickly calling in her landlady from her room across 
the passage-way, Emily explained what had occurred in 
a few brief words, and they lost no time in disrobing 
Uldene and bearing her to her couch. 

The usual remedies which they applied failed to bring 
back the fleeting breath to those pale lips, and, in alarm, 
the nearest physician was summoned. 


PREPARATIONS FOR VERLIe’s WEDDING. 


227 


‘‘It’s a bad case of brain fever, induced by some great 
and sudden shock,” was the doctor's verdict, as he bent 
over beautiful, hapless Uldene. “ I fear the young lady 
is destined to be confined to her bed for many a weary 
week.” 

“ Is it dangerous? I mean, do you think she will die, 
sir ?” 

“ It is a pretty severe case,” replied the doctor, dubi- 
ously. “ But while there is life there is hope. The 
chances are evenly balanced as to her recovery or—” 

“ Her death !” breathed Emily, in a low voice. 

The doctor nodded. If Emily could have read the 
future, she would have prayed Heaven to take Uldene 
then and there. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

PREPARATIONS FOR VERLIE’S WEDDING GO STEADILY ON. 

Verlie Sefton’s visit to the Renwicks was fast drawing 
to a close. On the following week she was to return to 
Richmond. Nella and Mark could spare their darling 
no longer. 

Verlie had insisted upon a year’s betrothal before she 
would name the wedding-day ; but her impatient, hand- 
some lover would brook no delay. 

“You must marry me at once, Verlie, my darling,” he 
declared; “then this perpetual, haunting fear that I 
may lose you will be forever laid at rest.” 

He pleaded so eloquently, and she loved him so well, 
how could she refuse? And, at length, much to Rut- 


228 


PREPARATIONS FOR VERLIe’s WEDDING. 


ledge’s delight, the order for the wedding trousseau was 
given, and Verlie consented to become his bride as soon 
as all arrangements could be completed. 

When Verlie wrote to Neddy Temple asking her to be 
one of the bridemaids, Neddy had bent her dark, curly 
hair over the letter with a startled cry of dismay. 

“ Verlie — going to be married — to — Rutledge Ches- 
ter!” she gasped. “ I can hardly believe it. I should 
almost fancy poor Uldene’s ghost would rise between 
them. Still, if he is bent upon marrying again, I would 
rather it would be Verlie who is to take Uldene’s place 
in his heart than any one else.” 

Preparations for the marriage went steadily on. 

Rutledge Chester had purchased one of the most 
magnificent villas on the avenue, and it was being 
rapidly put in readiness by the decorators and uphol- 
sterers for the occupancy of the bridal pair when they 
should return from their tour abroad. 

There was one event which happened that annoyed 
Rutledge more than he cared to own. 

He had crossed the lawn, and was entering through 
one of the long French windows of the drawing-room, 
when he was suddenly brought to a standstill by the con- 
versation of the decorators in an adjoining room. 

He knew he should have made his presence known to 
them, for he was too honorable to play the part of an 
eavesdropper ; but the sound of his own name, and the 
words which followed after, held him spellbound. 

“ I ’m afraid Mr. Chester’s bride will find this rather 
an unlucky house for her,” said one of the workmen to 
his companion. “ You may laugh and sneer all you like 
but I tell you omens are omens, and signs are signs. 
When a bird flies in through the open window of a house 


PREPARATIONS FOR VERLIE'S WEDDING. 


229 


they are preparing for a bride, or a black cat strays in, 
look out for a tragedy, I say.” 

“ Pshaw !” laughed his companion. “ I don’t believe 
in such nonsense. It’s absurd.” 

“ It is not nonsense,” returned the first speaker ; “ it is 
a warning of impending evil, as I have actually expe- 
rienced. A few years ago, I was decorating the walls of 
a beautiful house, which was being made ready to receive 
a lovely young bride, when, all of a sudden, a raven, 
black as night, fluttered in through the open window, 
quite in the same manner as the bird flew into the house 
to-day, and, as in this case, it made the tour of the 
whole house before it flew out again.” 

Here the man came to a full stop, breathing hard. 

“Well, did anything come of that ?” laughed his com- 
panion, good-humoredly. 

“ This much came of it,” returned the other, slowly ; 
“ as the bridal couple were crossing the threshold, sur- 
rounded by hundreds of gay, laughing friends following 
in the rear, a dark form sprang out from the shadow of 
the vestibule. Those nearest the groom and bride 
caught a fleeting glimpse of a woman’s face, burning 
with the raging fires of jealousy and hate. There was a 
startled scream — a pitiful groan. The bride fell back in 
the arms of her frantic bridegroom — dead ! — stricken to 
death by the small, white hand of a beautiful rival that 
had plunged, into her white breast, a long, thin, jeweled 
silver pin, which she had drawn from the meshes of her 
raven-dark hair. Yes, the bride fell dead on the thresh- 
old of the house she was never destined to occupy.” 

“ So you think the presence of the bird foretold that 
tragedy ?” asked the other, thoughtfully. 

“ I am sure of it,” was the reply ; “ and that is not the 


230 


PREPARATIONS FOR VERLIe’s WEDDING. 


first instance of the kind I have heard of, either. I 
could tell you of a score or more — ” 

Rutledge Chester waited to hear no more. With a 
white, set face, he turned on his heel and walked 
rapidly away. He tried to laugh the matter off, but 
somehow it troubled him, even though he told himself 
it was ridiculous folly for a person of sense to give one 
moment’s thought to superstitious omens or signs. 

“ Nothing could happen to my beautiful Verlie,” he 
muttered, impatiently. “ I will forget the matter.” 

As he turned the corner of the avenue he beheld a 
natty little phaeton, drawn by a coal-black pony, whirl- 
ing rapidly toward him. 

Rutledge’s heart beat with pleasure, and his face 
flushed as he saw that its occupants were Verlie and 
Neddy Temple. 

Neddy’s sharp eyes had been the first to discern him. 

“ Look who’s coming, Verlie !” she exclaimed. “ Good 
gracious ! look at his facej It’s the color of my flam- 
ing, red silk umbrella ! He’s blushing like a school-boy 
as his eyes fall upon you.” 

It was now Verlie’s turn to smile and blush con- 
fusedly. 

“ Well, I never saw such a pair of lovers as you two 
are, anyhow,” cried Neddy, laughing uproariously, much 
to bashful Verlie’s distress. 

Neddy saw Rutledge had drawn close to the edge of 
the pavement, and was waiting for them to approach ; 
and, seized with the irrepressible spirit of mischief that 
characterized her, she grasped the reins and the dainty 
ivory riding whip from Verlie’s hand, and with a cut 
from the whip which the pony was not soon to forget 
they whirled with the velocity of the wind past Rut- 


PREPARATIONS FOR VERLIE’s WEDDING. 


231 


ledge and on down the avenue, without giving him an 
instant of time in which to salute them. 

“Oh Neddy, you little vixen, he will feel so hurt 
about this,” cried Verlie, as soon as she could regain her 
breath ; but Neddy only laughed the more uproari- 
ously. 

“ He will have you to himself soon enough,” she 
declared. “ I was determined he should not have one 
single moment of your society this morning.” 

As they rode along through the golden sunlight — 
girl-like, they fell to discussing the approaching wed- 
ding, and where it was to take place. 

“ Mrs. Renwick is trying to induce me to have the 
marriage take place here, while mamma is equally 
anxious that it shall take place at our home near Rich- 
mond ; but father has quite a different view of the 
matter, and I must say I like his idea the best,” smiled 
Verlie, “and that is that I shall be married where I was 
born — and that is at Black-Tor Light-House, on the 
Florida coast.” 

“ Black-Tor Light-House !” echoed Neddy, aghast. 
“ Why, Verlie Sefton, I actually think you have lost 
your senses. I — I thought you were going to have an 
elegant, fashionable affair of it,” she cried, disappoint- 
edly. 

“ That will make it none the less so to be married 
there,” Verlie answered, serenely. “ Indeed, it is one 
of the most weird, romantic spots in the whole wide 
world.” 

“ Too weird,” cried Neddy, shrilly. “ I have always 
heard and read such strange tales and traditions about 
these isolated light-houses, that somehow the very men- 
tion of one makes me shiver. It is a marvel to me that 


232 


PREPARATIONS FOR VERLIe’s WEDDING. 


you and Uldene could ever have passed your childhood 
there.” 

“I was contented — Uldene never was,” sighed Verlie, 
thoughtfully. “ Her one longing was to break away 
from its monotonous loneliness and see the gay, bright 
world beyond. She was very much like you, Neddy, in 
those old days. It makes my heart ache when I think 
of Uldene,” said Verlie, in a low voice. “ I loved her so 
well I would have willingly given my life for her if it 
would have saved her.” 

“In that case you would never have been Mrs. Rut- 
ledge Chester,” replied Neddy. 

The words were thoughtlessly, carelessly spoken, and 
Neddy repented having spoken them the moment after 
they were uttered. 

“ Heaven forbid that I should be his wife at the 
expense of Uldene’s life,” murmured Verlie. “ I, who 
would have suffered death to have saved her !” 

“ Forgive me for bringing up such unpleasant 
thoughts, dear,” sobbed impulsive Neddy, throwing her 
arm about Verlie. “We will forget all about it by 
going to see the flower show. Every one we know will 
be there. After that you shall go with me to try on my 
dress ; it’s to be my bridemaid dress. Look out, Verlie, 
I may outshine you at the grand affair, if you’re not 
careful,” laughed Neddy. 

“ You are certainly pretty enough to,” replied Verlie. 
“ I will be very pleased to go with you to see it tried 
on.” 

“ I went yesterday to see about it, but there was so 
much confusion there about some girl who had been 
taken suddenly ill, that I concluded to wait until 
to-day,” said Neddy. 

“We will take the poor girl who has been taken ill 


A BROKEN LOVE-DREAM. 


233 


some fruit and flowers, and a few delicacies/' suggested 
generous-hearted Verlie. 

“ It would be a perfectly splendid idea,” chimed in 
Neddy. 

An hour later the phaeton stopped before the humble 
cottage that sheltered Uldene. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

A BROKEN LOVE-DREAM. 

Alighting from the phaeton, Verlie and Neddy came 
hastily up the graveled walk. 

Emily Lennox was profuse in her thanks when they 
told her what they had brought for her sick friend. 

“ I thank you — for her sake, more than words can 
express,” said Emily, as she invited them intCL her 
humble apartment, taking the parcels from them. 

“ Is the poor girl so very bad ?” asked Neddy. 

“Yes,” replied Miss Lennox, “she is suffering from 
the worst form of brain fever. It would make you cry 
to sit by the bedside for any length of time, and listen 
to her delirious ravings — it would, indeed. She clasps 
her little white hands, and with the bitterest of tears 
falling like rain down her face, she pleads with some 
imaginary person to spare her the love of some one 
whose every heart-throb should be for her and no one 
else. That is the one burden of her pitiful prayer by 
day and by night. 

“ Her lover should be sent for, if you know who he 
is,” said Verlie, pityingly. 


234 


A BROKEN LOVE-DREAM. 


“ That is the worst of it. I do not know his name, or, 
in fact, where any of her friends are ;” and she related 
to them how and where she had met the young girl who 
called herself Miss Dean. 

Neither Verlie nor Neddy could understand a sorrow 
so great that a young girl like themselves should seek 
death when the bright world was so fair. 

“ I can understand a lover turning from a plain, 
homely, unattractive woman ; but how any man could 
turn from this young girl would be a mystery to me. 
She is so beautiful, so sweet, with all the graces of a 
young lady of the highest culture.” 

“You interest me greatly in this beautiful stranger,” 
said Verlie, watching mechanically the process of the 
white surah silk being tried on and fitted to Neddy’s 
superb, supple, slender form. “ I should like very much 
to befriend her. I — I am so happy myself, it pains me 
to see other young girls wretched. Could I see your 
protegee ?” 

Ah, Heaven pity us ! how slight a thing in this life 
might avert a cruel fate. Had Emily Lennox granted 
Verlie Sefton’s request, one of the darkest tragedies 
that ever startled a quiet community would have been 
averted. 

“ I am sorry to be obliged to refuse you,” said Miss 
Lennox. “ The doctor left a sleeping potion for her, 
which I have just given her, hoping it will induce sleep. 
She would start from her couch at the opening of a 
door. The sound of a footfall awakens her.” 

“ In that case it would be wrong to disturb her. I 
will come again soon, however, and I hope then to be 
permitted to see her,” said Verlie, as she and Neddy 
rose to depart. 

During the drive back to Renwick Villa Verlie was 


A BROKEN LOVE-DREAM. 


235 


unusually thoughtful. This by no means suited gay, 
talkative, lively Neddy. 

“A penny for your thoughts, Verlie,” she cried. “I 
have been talking to you for the last half hour, and I’ll 
wager a pair of kid gloves, or tickets to to-day’s mati- 
nee, that you haven’t heard a word I said.” 

“I may as well own up at once and plead guilty to 
the charge. I haven’t been listening, Neddy. I was 
thinking of that poor sick girl in the cottage we have 
just left, who must be breaking her poor heart over 
some faithless, unworthy lover. Ah, how thankful I 
should be, Neddy, for the love of such a noble man as 
Rutledge Chester !” 

“ What should you do if you were to lose him now, I 
wonder ?” cried blunt little Neddy. 

Verlie turned as white as the pale blossoms she wore 
on her breast. 

“ It would kill me. That’s all, Neddy,” she answered, 
in a low voice. “ Don’t mention such a possibility.” 

“ There ! I’m always saying something to bring tears 
to your pretty blue eyes,” sighed Neddy. “ Oh, if 
somebody would invent a bridle for the tongue what a 
blessing it would be ! Why, the patentee would make 
a fortune in no time. It would be one of those useful 
articles that’s needed in every household.” 

No one could be down-hearted long where merry, 
fun-loving Neddy was, and she soon had Verlie in the 
best of spirits again. 

On the drive homeward they passed Captain Lansing. 
Since the memorable night of the lawn fete he had 
carefully avoided Verlie. He raised his hat with a stiff 
bow as the two girls whirled by, and in that moment a 
sudden and startling secret became known to Verlie. 
Turning to look at Neddy, she noticed with astonish- 


236 


A BROKEN LOVE-DREAM. 


ment that ner pretty, dimpled face was suffused with 
blushes, and the dark eyes were wistfully following the 
young captain’s handsome figure, with a light in them 
Verlie had never seen there before. 

Like a flash the truth came to Verlie Sefton. 

Poor little Neddy — beneath her mask of gayety — was 
quite as much a victim to a hopeless love-dream as the 
poor soul lying ill in the cottage which they had just 
left. Yes, she could plainly see that poor little Neddy’s 
heart had gone out unsolicited to the gallant, dashing, 
handsome captain, who, in turn, loved her instead of 
Neddy. 

Ah ! what strange freaks fate plays with human livi ; 
and loves ! 

Never dreaming Verlie had the faintest idea of her 
secret, Neddy asked, with apparent indifference : 

“ Is Captain Lansing coming to the wedding, do you 
suppose ?” 

“ I hardly think so. Still, I shall endeavor to persuade 
him to come and act as one of the groomsmen.” 

“ I have always had a fancy that he cared for you, 
Verlie. Is it true, do you think ?” she asked, wistfully, 
turning sharply towards Verlie. 

“ I think that is merely your imagination, Neddy, 
dear,” replied Verlie, gently and evasively. “ He was 
at one time a great friend of Rutledge’s, you know.” 

“Why aren’t they friends now ?” inquired Neddy, 
suspiciously. 

“ I suppose young gentlemen friends are like girl 
friends — they have their little differences once in a 
while ; don’t speak, and then make up again.” 

This view of the matter seemed to please Neddy, and 
proved quite satisfactory. 

“Then you must be mediator, Verlie, between the 


A BROKEN LOVE -BREAM. 


237 


two,” she declared. “ Captain Lansing is such a nice 
young man to have at our entertainments, you know.” 

“ I'll do my best,” agreed Verlie. 

In the depths of her heart she pitied bright, beautiful 
Neddy, for, she well knew, adding fuel to the flame of 
Neddy’s love by being thrown into constant society of 
the agreeable captain, would be cruel to Neddy in the 
end, for she would never win him. As long as he lived 
his heart would hold but one love, one idol ; that idol, 
he had told her, was herself ; and the love of a life-time 
that filled his heart was his hopeless love for her. But 
Verlie would not have pained Neddy by telling her this 
for worlds. Hope is such a sweet, grateful panacea for 
a yearning, hungry heart. 

Rutledge Chester had walked leisurely down the 
avenue, and half an hour later, dropping in at his club, 
the first person whom he met was his old friend, Cap- 
tain Lansing. 

“ He was so happy with the whole world,” Rutledge 
told himself, impulsively, “ that he ought to make over- 
tures of friendship to his old chum, who had lost what 
he had won.” 

All the world seemed joyous, for was he not in the 
coming fortnight to claim his darling Verlie as his 
bride ? 

“ Lansing,” said Rutledge, touching him lightly on 
the arm, and addressing him in the old, familiar way, 
“ would you mind walking a short distance with me ? I 
should like to let by-gones be by-gones. I would be 
pleased to renew the old friendship.” 

Captain Lansing laughed a harsh, bitter laugh. He 
drew back haughtily, paling to the lips, his eyes flash- 
ing fire. 

“ Go your way, Rutledge Chester,” he cried, fiercely. 


288 


A BROKEN LOVE-DREAM. 


“ You insult me by imagining I could be friendly with 
the man who has wrecked my life, and stolen from me 
the only woman whom I could ever love.” 

“ I am sorry you look at it in that way,” replied Rut- 
ledge, with pained gravity. “ U you had been successful 
in winning my Verlie’s love, I should have bowed to it 
as the will of Heaven.” 

A sneering laugh fell again from Captain Lansing’s 
lips. 

“ I make no pretense of being a saint,” he retorted, 
bitterly ; “ and, I own frankly, I hate you with all my 
heart, and I live for the one hope of revenge !” he cried, 
rashly, scarcely heeding, in his bitterness, the words he 
was using. 

“ I hate you so desperately,” he went on, recklessly, 
“ that, if I could snatch Verlie Sefton from your arms at 
the very altar, I should do it, no matter what the cost 
might be. I would rather see you lying dead at my 
feet than hear you call the only girl I could ever love 
your bride.” 

Every one in the club-room heard the horrible words, 
and there came an hour in which they remembered them 
all too well. 

“ It is useless to ask you to come to our wedding, 
then ?” asked Rutledge, sorrowfully. “ I am much 
grieved, Lansing.” 

“ You know that is false, every word you have uttered,” 
cried Lansing. “You laugh at my defeat, and come 
here to taunt me with your approaching marriage. I 
warn you — take care ! — beware how you goad me on. 
I tell you there is a limit to my forbearance in this 
case.” 

“ Captain Lansing, you forget yourself,” said Rutledge, 
haughtily. 


THE DECREE OF FATE. 


239 


The captain turned with a muttered curse, and, with- 
out casting one backward glance at the handsome, 
pained face of the more fortunate lover, strode angrily 
down the marble steps and on down the avenue. 

“ Of course his rival’s angry words meant nothing,” 
Rutledge told himself, with a forced laugh. Whether 
they did or not, we are soon to see. Ah, if Rutledge 
could but have foreseen the horrible future ! 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE DECREE OF FATE. 

“ Love I him ? Though scorned and slighted, 

Thrown like worthless weeds apart, 

Feelings seared, affection blighted, 

Love him ? — yes, with all my heart ! 

With a passion superhuman — 

Constancy, thy name is woman !” 

The arrangements for the fatal marriage were nearing 
completion. 

Rutledge had endeavored to persuade Verlie not to 
have the all-important ceremony performed in Black- 
Tor Light-House ; but in this she was not to be shaken 
from her resolution. 

“ I love the old, dark stone pile, with the white-capped 
waves curling about it,” she answered, softly. “Do not 
try to oppose me, Rutledge.” 

The pretty bridemaids were delighted at the novel, 
romantic idea. 

“ It was decidedly out of the common,” they declared, 


240 


THE DECREE OF FATE. 


unanimously. “ Let the marriage take place at the 
light-house by all means.” 

Rutledge had therefore to set to work, sparing neither 
pains nor money, to make the place a veritable fairy 
bower for the great occasion. Although Mark Sefton 
had been raised to great wealth and affluence, he could 
never be induced to give tip possession of the old light- 
house. It had been placed in the care of a trusted 
assistant. 

It was the merriest party that ever boarded a steam 
yacht, that stepped on board the Island Queen that 20th 
day of June. 

The ceremony was to take place two days later — on 
the evening of the 22nd. 

How proud Nella Sefton was of her beautiful daughter 
Verlie. As she watched her standing on deck by Rut- 
ledge Chester’s side, she noted how fond they were of 
each other ; and in that moment a thought of Uldene, 
who had come between them, came to her. Ah, how 
strange it was that these two young girls had been des- 
tined to love the same man. During the whole journey, 
the memory of Uldene haunted her. She could not tell 
why. She could not forget a remark Uldene had once 
made, which, at the time, although spoken in jest, had 
made a great impression upon her. 

The subject under discussion had been a young lover 
who had married a year after the death of a pretty sweet- 
heart, who had pined away because her guardian had 
separated her from this lover. 

“ He should never have married. He should have 
been true to her memory while his life lasted !” Uldene 
had cried, her cheeks flushing, and her great, dark, 
glorious eyes gleaming like stars. Adding, excitedly : 
“ If I had been that girl, I should have come back from 


THE DECREE OF FATE. 


241 


my grave to have snatched him from another at the 
altar. They could not bury me so deep but what I 
should have risen.” 

The words haunted the mother’s anxious heart, try 
hard at she could to forget them. 

“ Uldene is lying cold and dead in her grave,” she 
murmured, gazing down into the blue waves. “ She can 
never come between Verlie and her love again.” 

There was a merry party waiting at the light-house to 
receive them, and welcome the bride-elect back to her 
old home. 

“ ‘ ’Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, 

Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home,’ ” 

murmured Verlie, with tears in her pretty blue eyes, as 
she walked up the well-remembered path, surrounded 
by her friends. 

Early the next morning the bridal trousseau — a mar- 
vel of art — arrived. Neddy Temple was alone with 
Verlie when it was unpacked. 

“ Oh, do try it on, dear,” she cried, enthusiastically.^ 
“I cannot wait patiently until to-morrow evening to see 
the effect. Do try it on. That’s a darling.” 

Against her better judgment, Verlie allowed herself 
to be persuaded into donning it, even to the tiny white 
kid slippers, the orange wreath and filmy vail. 

“ You will look like an angel, Verlie,” declared Neddy, 
impulsively throwing her arms around her friend, and 
kissing her rapturously. “ Rutledge will be the happiest 
man in the world when he leads you to the altar. Your 
fair, dazzling loveliness will bewilder the adoring fellow.” 

“Flatterer!” laughed Verlie, blushing. “ I shall take 
my death of cold in the breeze you’re giving me.” 


242 


THE DECREE OF FATE. 


The laughter of the two girls was suddenly cut short 
by the entrance of the old housekeeper. 

“You did not hear me knock, I reckon, Miss Verlie. 
I thought — ” 

The sentence never was finished. 

“ Good Lord !” gasped the old woman, holding up her 
hands in dismay, and staring with all her might at the 
slim, graceful figure that wheeled around from the mirror. 
“Oh, Lord, if she hain’t got on her weddin’ gown an’ 
all the fixin’s ! May the saints preserve us from the 
unlucky omen ! Oh, poor lamb — poor lamb ! Take ’em 
off, quick !” 

“What on earth do you mean, my good woman?” 
exclaimed Neddy, sharply, seeing that all the color had 
fled from Verlie’s cheeks, and left them pale as marble. 

“ I mean that’s unlucky to try on a weddin’ gown, and 
all the fixin’s, on the day before the weddin’,” answered 
the old woman, bluntly. “ No good ever comes of it.” 

“ That’s all old women’s nonsense,” declared Neddy, 
giving her a knowing wink behind Verlie’s back, and 
holding up her little white hand with a warning gesture. 
“ Come, now, Mrs. Dunn, own up that you just said that 
to have a little fun with Verlie. Why, the girl actually 
thinks you are in dead earnest.” 

Evidently the blunt old housekeeper was too obtuse 
to catch Neddy’s meaning. 

“ It’s the truth, miss,” she stoutly declared, solemnly. 
“ I’d as soon hev seen her a standin’ there in her shroud.” 

“ You horrible creature !” cried the exasperated Neddy. 
“ It’s positively wicked to croak of evil. Why, you make 
one’s blood run cold ! Thank goodness I’ve too much 
good sense to believe in omens.” 

“ You’re a rattle-brained piece, with no sense to speak 


THE DECREE OF FATE. 


243 


of to spare,” mumbled the old woman, quitting the room, 
and banging the door after her. 

Neddy’s sharp ears had heard, however, and a wicked, 
rollicking laugh floated after her. 

Neddy was just the girl to talk Verlie out of what she 
had heard ; and in half an hour’s time, surrounded by 
her girl friends, she had quite forgotten the unpleasant 
occurrence. 

On that same day — aye, that very hour — a strange 
scene was being enacted in the little cottage in which 
hapless Uldene had found shelter. 

The delirium of fever which had kept her senses 
enthralled had at last subsided, and she opened her dark 
eyes to consciousness. 

For one moment the large, pathetic eyes studied the 
white, anxious face bending over her. 

“ Where am I?” she cried, starting up from her couch 
in the greatest bewilderment. 

“ You have been ill for many days,” answered Miss 
Lennox, pushing the heavy, dark curls from the white 
face on her pillow. “Do you not remember me, my 
dear ?” 

At the sound of her voice memory rushed back to 
Uldene's busy brain in an instant. 

“ I remember all,” she murmured, faintly. “ You say 
I have been ill many days,” she said, wonderingly. 

“Quite two weeks,” declared Miss Lennox. “The 
bridemaid- dress came in to me to make on the day you 
were taken so ill. It was finished and delivered a week 
ago.” 

“ And the marriage,” gasped Uldene, pale as death. 
“Has that taken place yet?” 

“ It is set for the evening of the 22nd, I believe,” 
answered Miss Lennox, “and is, contrary to expecta- 


2ll 


THE DECREE OF FATE. 


tion, to take place somewhere down South at the bride’s 
old home. It is to be a grand affair. Immediately after 
the ceremony, the happy couple will start for an 
extended tour through Europe. So the papers say. 
Ah, well, to be happy in this life is not for all of us,” 
continued Miss Lennox, with a deep sigh. “ For exam- 
ple, I will read you an article in the paper immediately 
following the one I have just mentioned. It is quite 
racy,” she declared, drawing her chair up closer by the 
bedside. “ The headline reads : * A scandal in High 

Life.’ It will be sure to interest you.” 

Miss Lennox was a good little woman, but, like all 
her sex, she delighted in a spicy scandal, and she sup- 
posed, of course, it would interest her protegee. The 
sum and substance of the article was : 

A handsome stranger had married a beautiful heiress, 
and for a time all went happy as a marriage bell. Sud- 
denly a second wife appeared upon the scene, whom he 
had believed to have been lost at sea on a steamer 
which had been wrecked, and the beautiful heiress found 
out to her cost that she was no wife. 

“ It must be a terrible calamity to be placed in such 
a predicament,” cried Miss Lennox, energetically. 
“ Poor young bride ! It was a thousand pities to blight 
her future so, for, of course, she had no claim upon him 
when it was learned he had another wife living.” 

A sudden thought came to Uldene, so startling it 
almost took her breath away. 

How strangely like her own story was this. She said : 

“ When the poor wife whom he believed dead found 
him wedded to another, she should have gone quietly 
away out of his life forever.” 

“ By no means,” declared Miss Lennox, amazedly. 
“Why, she would be committing one of the gravest of 


THE DECREE OF FATE. 


245 


crimes by keeping silent against both God’s laws and 
man’s ; for the second marriage would be illegal, and 
she would be aware of that fact, while the husband and 
the bride were innocent of all intention of wrong. Why, 
did you ever hear of such a case, my dear ?” asked Miss 
Lennox, curiously. 

“ No — yes. I — that is — no, certainly not,” stammered 
Uldene, confusedly. 

All that long summer night Uldene was face to face 
with the terrible thought : Should she let the marriage 
go on, or should she not ? 

She had drifted into a terrible position, and did not 
know how to extricate herself from it. She had awak- 
ened to the awful reality that her husband was going to 
marry another, while she herself was still alive — she , his 
lawful wife . She had wrecked his life and Verlie’s once 
before. If she wrecked it a second time, how they would 
hate her ! But — 

If she could but warn Rutledge that it must not be. 

But he would want proofs as to why he must part 
from the bride he was about to lead to the altar ; and 
the only proof which would bear the least weight would 
be to present herself in the flesh before him. 

“Oh, God, teach me what to do, which way to turn !” 
she sobbed, wringing her little white hands wildly 
together. 


246 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

A FATAL MISTAKE. 

Beautiful, unfortunate Uldene’s grief was all the more 
poignant because she loved Rutledge so well ; yet there 
was a reason, strong as life itself, and more bitter than 
death, why this hapless daughter, the last of an accursed 
race, dare not share Rutledge Chester’s home and heart. 

“ Oh, God, what shall I do ? Which way shall I 
turn ?” she repeated, wringing her little white hands 
and raising her pale face to the pitiless night winds that 
drifted in with the moonlight through the open window. 
In the solemn hush of the midnight strange thoughts 
came to her. Why should Verlie be happy in his love 
while she was doomed to the darkness of cold despair ? 

It would not be so hard for Verlie to give him up as 
for her to lose him beyond recall — forever. 

Why not go to Verlie, make herself known to her, bind 
her to a vow of eternal silence, and tell her all ? Under 
the pitiful circumstances, Verlie would certainly see that 
she must never reveal herself to Rutledge. 

How she would kneel at Verlie’s feet and beg of her 
not to hate her for separating them. 

Verlie was sweet and good as an angel. Uldene knew 
that she would clasp her white arms around her, and 
say, gently : 

“ Do not grieve for me, Uldene, darling. I will give 
him up to you without a murmur, since it is God’s will. 
You are restored to us from the very grave ; that will be 
recompense and solace enough for me.” 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


247 


Ah, yes, she must see Verlie and tell her all. She had 
no time to lose if she would save her. Uldene knew that 
her new-found friend would object most strenuously to 
her leaving the cottage in her present weak condition. 
She must steal cautiously away without her knowledge. 
Yes, that would be best. 

Leaving a note to her, carefully pinned to the white 
pillow, in which she expressed her heartfelt gratitude 
for the kindness that had been shown her, and hoping 
the time might come when she could repay tenfold that 
kindness, Uldene stole silently 'away from the humble 
cottage, and from the kind woman who had indeed 
proven her friend in her hour of greatest need. 

Uldene, faint and weak, pushed steadily on through 
the intense darkness which preceded the dawn, reaching 
the depot as the faint pink streak of early morning was 
tinting the gray of the eastern sky. 

She was just in time. The southern express was 
within five minutes of starting. Uldene purchased her 
ticket, entered the car, and took her seat. 

The sun rose in a flood of crimson and gold glory, 
traveled through the blue, hazy, cloudless sky, reached 
the zenith, passed it, and sank slowly toward the west. 
Still the train whirled on past green fields, small vil- 
lages, woodland and stream. The dusk settled down, 
and the night crept on, and one by one the golden stars 
fixed themselves in the blue sky, and in the darkness of 
the night the train stopped at Uldene’s destination. 

Gathering her cloak closely about her, and drawing 
her vail down over her face, Uldene stepped from the 
car. The wharf was but a few blocks distant. She 
made her way to it without delay, looking furtively 
around for the long, weather-beaten building, or shed 
rather, that had always stood to the right of it, where 


24:8 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


little boats could be hired. It was not there now ; it 
had been either torn down or the high tide had swept it 
away. 

“A boat, miss? Was you looking for a boat ?” ex- 
claimed a voice at her elbow. 

“ Yes,” answered Uldene, anxiously. “I want to get 
over to Black-Tor Light-House. I do not need any one 
to row me over. I — I can handle the oars myself,” she 
added, placing the usual fee in the man’s hand. 

“ They are going to have a great time over to the old 
light-house to-night,” said the boatman. “ There’s to be 
a grand wedding. Many a load of merry young folks 
I’ve carried over in my boat to-day.” 

“ When is the ceremony to take place ? At what hour, 
do you know ?” asked Uldene, trembling in every limb. 

“ At ten, prompt. That is what I heard,” he answered. 

At that moment the clock in an adjoining steeple 
tolled the hour of eight. 

Uldene took the oars in her white hands, and the 
little skiff shot out like an arrow into the blue, dancing 
waves. Once a desperate feeling came over her to fling 
herself from the little boat down, down into the silvery, 
star-tipped waves, and let the marriage go on. Then a 
great thrill of joy filled her heart that it was in her 
power to prevent any other woman from being the bride 
of him whom she loved better than life itself. 

At last the keel of the little boat touched the sand of 
the small island, and Uldene sprang ashore, drawing 
her boat into safety amongst the dense overhanging 
willows, and securing it to an iron staple. 

This accomplished, she was about to turn towards the 
house, when a hurried, cautious, creeping footstep fell 
upon her ear, and an instant later the tall figure of a 
man emerged from the path into sight. The clear 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


249 


moonlight fell upon his dark, sinister face, revealing to 
Uldene the face of her mortal foe — the man who knew 
the horrible secret of the daughters of her race, and who 
had forced her to fly from her husband, if she would 
not have that story blazoned to the world. 

“ What was he doing here?” Uldene asked herself, 
breathless with horror. 

He stopped short, and gazed up at the brilliantly 
illuminated towers with a fierce light in his dark, 
threatening eyes. He was so near Uldene she could 
have reached out her white hand and touched him from 
where she crouched in such abject terror amongst the 
trees. She was in deadly fear lest he would hear the 
loud beating of her heart. 

But no; he was too deeply engrossed in his own ^ 
thoughts for that. v 

“ How strange it is, Rutledge Chester, that your path 
and mine should have crossed again !” he muttered, 
aloud. “ In wedding your first bride you would have 
robbed me of my wealth, that would have gone to her 
on her eighteenth birthday had she lived ; and in wed- 
ding this bride you win from me the only woman I have 
ever loved in all my reckless, sin-hardened-life — a reck- 
less life, handed down from father to son. From the 
day you learned, through accident, that I — the trusted 
bank cashier — was a forger, a smuggler and a gambler, 
and blazoned it out to the world, so that ever since the 
officers of the law have been on my track, I have sworn 
to be avenged upon you. You shall not marry Verlie 
Sefton to-night ! I swear it ! I would see you lying 
dead at my feet first ! Ah ! there is Rutledge Chester 
now !” he exclaimed, as a tall figure emerged from the 
open door, and strolled down the path, directly toward 


250 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


the dark, shadowy pines behind which the desperado 
had stepped. 

In that instant Uldene realized Rutledge’s peril. 
There would be a fearful tragedy, unless she prevented 
it. Rutledge, whom she loved better than life itself, 
would be slain. Ah, Heaven help her to save him ! 

She tried to cry out to warn him, but her tongue clove 
to the roof of her mouth ; the wild cry died on her lips, 
making no sound, and the blood seemed to freeze in her 
veins with mortal terror. Her limbs refused to hold her 
slight weight, and she sank down among the sharp 
•brambles ; but in that awful moment of speechless 
terror she had seen a horrible sight. The tall figure 
had stepped abreast of th^ trees — then the hidden foe 
had sprung upon him. There was a sharp gleam of 
steel in the white moonlight, and Uldene knew no 
more. 

In an instant a thrilling cry had broken the stillness 
of the night air, and startled the gay group strolling 
down the sand not far distant, and immediately they 
hurried to the spot from whence the sound had pro- 
ceeded. 

And in that fatal moment another small skiff grated 
on the sand, and Captain Lansing, pale and haggard, 
but resolute, sprang out. 

“I.am sorry that I did not accept Rutledge’s over- 
tures toward friendship,” he mused. “ Ah, well, if 
Verlie, the dear girl, can be happier with him than she 
could have been with me, I bow to the decree of fate. 
It will be a great surprise to both Verlie and Rutledge 
to see that I have accepted their kind invitation — even 
at the last moment — to be present at the wedding. I 
have had a hard fight with my heart, but, thank God, 
good feeling has conquered. I — ” 


A FATAL MISTAKE. 


251 


“ Hello ! What’s this ?” he cried aloud. 

He had stumbled against something lying across the 
path — a human body. 

“ I was not mistaken, then. I did hear a terrible cry 
a moment since,” he murmured, bending down over the 
prostrate form. “ Has there been a tragedy here ?” 

In that moment strong hands seized him. There was 
a babel of voices — a flashing of lights. 

The grounds, in a single instant, were filled with 
frightened guests, who thronged around the prostrate 
figure, looking askance at the captain, and whispering, 
with bated breath, as they closed in around him. 

It was not Rutledge Chestm* who had met such a nar- 
row escape from a terrible fate, but a young man who, 
unfortunately, closely resembled him. He had not 
fainted ; the fearful blow struck by the unknown 
assassin had glanced aside, just above his heart, making 
but a slight incision, and, faint and breathless, he was 
explaining how he had come down the path, when from 
behind the pines a man had sprung out, and a hoarse 
voice had cried out: “You shall never marry Verlic 
Sefton, the only woman I have ever loved. You shall 
die first, Rutledge Chester.” Then followed the fatal 
blow which had so nearly cost him his life. 

The throng fell back and glanced, in dismay, at the 
pale, determined face of the handsome captain, and at 
Rutledge himself, who was standing there, with horror 
expressed on his countenance too deep for words. 


252 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 

“ Sparkles the dew, and shines the river, 

Glitters the tear in the lily’s bell — 

F or two are walking apart forever, 

And wave their hands in a mute farewell.” 

There were many in that group who knew that Rut- 
ledge Chester and the handsome captain had been bitter 
rivals for Verlie Sefton’s love. They knew, too, of the 
reckless threat of vengeance the captain had uttered. 
They had heard the fatal vow that had burst so thought- 
lessly from his lips in a moment of madness — that he 
would wrest her from his rival at the very altar. 

The horror-stricken throng gazed at each other with 
expressive glances and low-whispered words. 

“My friends — you, Rutledge — can you believe this 
was my work ?” asked the young captain, aghast. “ I 
swear to you I am innocent. I own that, up to 
to-night, I had bitter feelings against you ; but on this, 
your wedding night, I came to ask you to pardon my 
hasty words and my ill-feeling, and to beg for the 
friendship that, a fortnight since, I scornfully rejected. 
Do you believe me ?” 

Rutledge Chester was too shocked to find words in 
which to answer him. And those gathered around the 
wounded man, to bear him up to the light-house, 
turned their faces from him with darkening brows, in 
which he read his answer. 

Suddenly, through the shocked group, a little slen- 


GUILTY OK NOT GUILTY? 


253 


der figure burst — a little slim figure in white surah silk 
and dark, curling hair. It was poor Neddy. 

“ Though the world should believe you guilty and 
turn from you, I should still believe in your innocence, 
Captain Lansing/' she cried out, falteringly. “ I know 
you have not done this awful dead. Why don’t some- 
body search the grounds ?” 

Among all of Captain Lansing’s friends — many of 
whom had known him from his boyhood up — only this 
one young girl stood by him, believing him guiltless. 

He was a brave soldier and a haughty man, but tears 
came to his eyes — tears of emotion and gratitude — as he 
looked down upon her. 

“ Thank you for your faith in me, Miss Temple,” he 
said, brokenly, bending his handsome head over the 
little, extended fluttering white hand, and clasping it 
closely. “Your words have given me courage to face 
this terrible accusation and prove my innocence. I 
shall never rest with such a cloud darkening my fair 
name and fame. I shall find out who did this deed 
committed to-night, if it costs every cent of my for- 
tune.” 

A sturdy official — one of Mark Sefton’s old friends, 
who had been invited to the wedding as one of the 
guests, never dreaming a sterner duty would be 
required of him — here stepped forward. 

“ It is my painful duty to arrest you on suspicion, 
Mr.— Mr.— ” 

“ Lansing,” supplemented the captain, bowing gravely. 
“ I submit, sir,” he answered, proudly. “ I shall not 
interfere in the performance of your duty.” 

And amidst Neddy’s hysterical weeping and the mur- 
mur of his old friends — who had turned against him in 
his hour of need — the poor captain was led away. 


254 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY ? 


And while this confusion was going on in the grounds 
a pitiful scene was being enacted in the bride-elect’s 
chamber. A dark figure had glided in through the open 
doorway of the light-house, swiftly ascending the spiral 
stairway, pausing breathlessly before the door of Verlie’s 
room, pushing it open with unsteady, trembling hands. 

“ Is it you, Neddy?” exclaimed Verlie, turning sud- 
denly around. “What in the world is happening out 
there in the grounds ? You promised to come back 
instantly and let me know.” 

As she spoke, she lifted her blue eyes, beholding, not 
gay, laughing Neddy, but a slim figure dressed in a dark 
traveling dress, bedraggled with dew and sea-weed, her 
face heavily shrouded by a thick, black vail. 

“ Who are you, my good girl, and what do you want 
here?” exclaimed Verlie, in astonishment, but not 
unkindly. 

“ Oh, Verlie, Verlie, don’t you know me ?” exclaimed 
a tremulous voice that seemed to come from the confines 
of the tomb. 

“ That voice !” 

Verlie took a step forward, trembling with terror, and, 
throwing off her vail, with a bitter, piteous cry, Uldene 
staggered forward and flung herself at Verlie’s feet. 

What happened in the pitiful moments that followed 
only Heaven and the listening angels will bear witness. 
When the bridemaids came back, all in a flutter, some 
twenty minutes later, they found Verlie Sefton lying in 
her bridal robes, quite alone, and in a dead faint, upon 
the carpet. 

“ Ah, who had been so cruel as to tell her of the 
dastardly attempt upon Rutledge’s life !” they 
exclaimed. “ No wonder she had swooned at the hor- 
rible shock.” 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 


255 


As the hours rolled on Verlie grew rapidly worse, and 
the doctor in attendance soon gave out that there would 
be no wedding there that night. 

“ I said that it was an evil omen a-tryin’ on of her 
weddin’ gown,” muttered the old housekeeper, as Neddy, 
pale and trembling, passed her by ; but Neddy was too 
troubled to answer her. 

We will pass lightly over the scenes that followed, 
dear reader, during the long weeks that Verlie Sefton 
lay sick unto death, oblivious of all that was transpiring 
around her. 

Those terrible weeks, an honorable man — who was 
innocent as a babe of the crime of which he was accused 
— spent in a prison cell. 

There was a horrible chain of circumstantial evidence 
around the poor captain that would drag him down to 
his doom. Fate itself seemed to have tightened its 
merciless web about him. The tide of popular opinion 
and feeling was against him. 

He knew that he was not the first man who had been 
a martyr to circumstantial evidence, he told himself, 
bitterly. He was a Lansing, and the Lansings were all 
brave men ; he would not be the first of the race who 
had been called upon to face a trying ordeal. 

The fact which enraged public feeling was if the 
fatal steel had not glanced off from the gold pencil the 
victim happened to have in his vest pocket, it would have 
passed through his heart. 

Even the captain’s attorneys, when alone in consulta- 
tion, shook their heads. 

“ We are afraid, in spite of all the efforts we can put 
forth, the verdict will be a term of years in prison,” they 
agreed, sorrowfully. 


256 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY ? 


In those bitter days little Neddy proved his firm and 
steadfast friend. 

In his darkest hours she would try to cheer him, declar- 
ing, hopefully : 

“ It would be sure to come out all right soon, and that 
every cloud had its silver lining.” 

Poor Neddy ! How bravely she tried to inspire him 
with hope, even up to the last. If he had noticed 
closely, he might have known by her swollen eyes that 
she spent most of her time in hopeless, passionate tears. 

There was but one person who could have saved him, 
who listened attentively to all that was said of the pitiful 
case, in the little adjacent village to which she had fled, 
easily concealing her identity behind a widow’s cap and 
blue glasses, and that was Uldene herself. 

One word from her would prove him guiltless of the 
terrible charge, but in doing this she would be obliged 
to reveal her own identity, and from this Uldene shrank 
in pitiful terror. She was dead to Rutledge and the 
world ; she must never reveal herself ; even Verlie, who 
had heard her terrible story, had agreed — for Rutledge’s 
sake — it must be so. 

She was the only person who could point out the true 
would-be assassin, and clear this young captain’s name 
and fame. Should she do it, and suffer the consequences 
that would inevitably follow, or not ? 

Long and earnestly Uldene pondered over the thought. 
If she set the officers of the law upon the daring 
stranger’s track, and they should hunt him down, he 
would take a horrible vengeance upon her by blazoning 
her history and her story to the scandal-loving world. 
And yet, because of this fatal power he held over her, 
should she let an innocent man suffer? 

Uldene was sorely perplexed. She was so young, so 





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ULDENE FLUNG HERSELF AT VERLIE’S FEET. — See Page 254 















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GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 


259 


friendless, with no one to advise — no one to reason with 
her — it is not to be wondered that she hesitated so piti- 
fully. 

The days and weeks flew by, bringing at last the fatal 
day of Captain Lansing’s trial. 

The court room was crowded to its utmost capacity. 
Every one pitied the handsome young prisoner in the 
box ; yet, in the face of the net-work of circumstantial 
evidence around him, who could believe him guiltless ? 

The captain and Rutledge Chester had been bitter 
rivals for a fair lady’s love. Rutledge’s wooing had met 
with success — the captain’s with ignominious defeat, and 
he had sworn a terrible oath of vengeance upon his 
more fortunate rival, vowing that the fair lady should 
never be his bride, for he would snatch her from him at 
the very altar. 

As the fatal testimony of one after another was given, 
brave as the captain was, cold dew stood out on his brow 
and trickled down on his clenched hands. His lips were set 
in a straight tense line that betokened the keenest agony, 
and tears that were no disgrace to his manhood sprang 
to his eyes. A prison cell for a long term of years 
stared him in the face. Better death than that. He 
realized with his quick intuition, when he saw the faces 
of the jury turned away from him, as they filed slowly 
back to their seats, what the verdict would be. 

He was innocent ; yet on circumstantial evidence he 
would be convicted. 

“ Gentlemen,” said the judge, solemnly addressing the 
jury, “ have you found a verdict ?” 

The foreman rose slowly to his feet, facing the judge. 
There was a great hush in the vast assemblage. Every 
one bent breathlessly forward to hear what followed. 
Every one anticipated what his answer must be. 


260 66 1 THREW THE LETTER IN THE FIRE.” 

“Your honor,” answered the foreman, sorrowfully, 
yet with terrible distinctness, “we, the jury, find the 
prisoner gui — ” 

The terrible word was never finished. A slender 
figure, heavily veiled, rose up from, among the crowd 
with a piercing cry, and gasped out : 

“Hold, your honor! I have something to say !” and 
as she spoke, Uldene — for it was she — flung the vail back 
from her face, and faced the horror-stricken throng. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

“ I THREW THE LETTER IN THE FIRE.” 

The most intense excitement prevailed throughout 
the crowded room as Uldene, pale as death, drew back 
the folds of her vail and stood revealed before them. 

Rutledge Chester rose to his feet with an awful cry. 

“ Am I mad, or dreaming ?” he cried, hoarsely. “ Has 
the grave given back its dead ? Do I see Uldene before 
me ?” 

“ Hold, your honor, and gentlemen of the jury. Do 
not pass sentence upon the prisoner until you have heard 
what I have to say. I saw the fatal blow struck. Yes, I 
witnessed the cowardly assault, and I say Captain Lan- 
sing is guiltless. The would-be assassin is at this 
moment in this room. I recognize him /” 

A thunderbolt falling from a clear sky could not have 
produced a more profound sensation than these words ; 
and, to add to the excitement, a tall stranger lounging 
near the door, with his slouch hat pulled low over his 


I THREW THE LETTER IN THE FIRE. 


261 


u 




face, made a desperate leap for the open door ; but ere 
he reached it Uldene had cried out, desperately : 

“ That is the man ! Stop him ! Hold him !” 

Strong hands fell upon his arm, and in a single instant 
the man found himself completely hedged in. 

He turned his dark, haughty, defiant face toward the 
court, who was rapping all in vain for order. 

So great was Rutledge Chester’s amazement, he had 
sunk back upon his seat, literally speechless. He tried 
to cry out, but the words died on his lips. He tried to 
rise, to cross over to where this being stood, to see if it 
were really a creature of flesh and blood — this beautiful 
vision who stood before him with the face and the voice 
of his lost Uldene. All the thrilling, exciting scene 
transpiring around him seemed like a confused dream — 
a trance — to him — he was so terribly shocked, so incapa- 
ble of action. 

“ You dare accuse me — you ¥' cried the stranger, 
fiercely, turning toward Uldene, and facing her with 
foam-flecked lips. 

“ Yes, I dare accuse you. I can tell my story, and then 
I can die. It will not matter much after that,” mur- 
mured Uldene, faintly, clutching her little, fluttering 
white hand over her heart. 

Again there was a call for order, and when silence 
reigned amid the breathless throng, the judge bade 
Uldene proceed. 

“ I must tell my story in my own way,” she murmured ; 
and this permission granted, catching her breath with a 
piteous sob, she went on, slowly and sobbingly : 

“ I have the strangest and bitterest story to tell that 
ever fell from human lips,” she sobbed ; “ and if it had 
not been to save the prisoner from an unmerited fate, I 
would have died a thousand deaths rather than have 


262 66 1 THREW THE LETTER IN THE FIRE.” 

revealed that I, the last daughter of an accursed race, 
and the miserable bride of Rutledge Chester, whom he 
believe to be dead, still lived. ” 

There was a murmur of surprise in the vast court- 
room, but Uldene held up her white hand warningly. 

“ Hear me out while I have the strength to speak,” 
she said. “ It is not a long story, and it is as bitter as 
it is short. 

“ There are those among you who have known me 
from childhood up, and the first part of my story will 
not be new to you. I can only say that for long years I 
believed myself to be the child of Mark and Nella Sef- 
ton, and believed fair-haired Verlie to be my sister. I 
might have had a happy enough life of it if I had never 
ventured beyond the confines of the narrow strip of 
island on which Black-Tor Light-House stands. 

“ I longed for change of scene, for gayety and pleasure, 
as all young girls do ; and honest Mark consented that 
Verlie and I should spend the coming holidays with an 
old friend’s family, who spent part of their winters in 
Washington, dividing their time between there and their 
beautiful villa in Boston. 

“ In granting my prayer — with which I often petitioned 
him — to see the world, honest Mark Sefton cursed me 
with my heart’s desire. 

“ Even now his parting words ring in my ears : ‘ You 
shall see the gay world beyond ; but, I warn you, give 
no thought to love or marriage, child. They are not for 
you. There is no lover on the book of fate for you. 
Reme?nber , Uldene, I warn you.’ I laughed gayly as I 
turned from him ; then, when I was quite alone, tears of 
vexation filled my eyes. Why should fate have decreed 
that I should have no lover? I asked myself, with pout- 
ing lips. Other girls less fair had lovers, and life 


I THREW THE LETTER IN THE FIRE. 


263 


u 


5? 


seemed all sweet enough for them. Every girl that has 
a spark of human nature in her breast has her own 
dream of a lover who is to come to her and woo her in 
the blissful, golden future. My dreams were quite as 
rosy as other girls’, and I had my ideal hero. How 
often I had smiled, and sung the words over to myself : 

* Every heart finds its own true mate 
Some time in life ; for this is fate.’ 

“Verlie and I would never have been permitted to 
visit at the home of Senator Chester if honest Mark had 
not believed that the son was traveling abroad in Europe, 
and through that error the whole course of my life was 
changed. When I met Rutledge Chester I said to my- 
self I had met the hero of my dreams. I hope I may 
not weary your honor with this preface,” faltered Uldene, 
“ but on this slender, tangled thread hangs the weighty 
evidence which in the end will clear the innocent pris- 
oner, and cast the man you are holding yonder into his 
place.” 

“ But ere she reaches that point she will have spoken 
her own doom !” cried the stranger, with mocking defi- 
ance. 

Uldene bowed her hapless head until the angry tumult 
which the man’s words had evoked had died down and 
silence was again restored. 

u Let me be brief,” Uldene went on, speaking with 
difficulty, as though the words pained her, and never 
taking her great dark eyes from the face of the stern 
judge. Soon after, I became engaged secretly to Rut- 
ledge Chester. I was on the point of writing this home 
to honest Mark Sefton when I made a startling discovery 


264 : “ I THREW THE LETTER IN THE FIRE.” 

which was written in a letter from the Seftons to Rut- 
ledge’s mother, and which by accident I came across. 

“ In it Mark Sefton warned the lady to nip in the bud 
any flirtation which I — being of a very romantic turn of 
mind — might fall into if a young and handsome man 
should cross my path. She must never love, for she must 
never marry ; so ran the letter. And I, full of curiosity, 
read these lines, which had never been intended for my 
eyes, carefully to the end. It was a history of my life, 
that read like a tragic romance. It was then I made the 
discovery that I was not Mark Sefton’s child — but a waif 
clasped close in my dying mother’s arms — who had been 
saved from a wrecked steamer, which was drifting 
toward the light-house one terribly stormy night. My 
young mother did not live long enough to teLl who we 
were, or from whence we came. She cried out to Nella 
Sefton to take her hapless child — for she was dying — and 
rear it as her own. ‘ This child must never love — for 
she must never marry,’ sobbed my poor young mother, 
bitterly, ‘for a curse most terrible hangs over her hap- 
less head that will blast her life, mock her love, until 
death ends it all. Listen while I tell you what it is. 
But first you must swear never to reveal it even to the 
child herself — it is so full of awful horror.’ Ere she 
could breathe the horrible secret she fell back dead, with 
the bitter secret untold.” 

“ • Now, you see,’ wrote Mark Sefton in conclusion, 

‘ ivhy you must guard her, dear madam, more carefully, 
while she is under your roof, than most girls.’ There 
the letter ended. I threw it in the fire, and as I watched 
the glowing coals I cried out to myself, ‘ Why should I 
care for those written words ? Why should I let them 
rob me of love and happiness ?’ I could not — no, I 


I THREW THE LETTER IN THE FIRE. 


265 


(( 




would not ! I would brave fate itself and marry Rut- 
ledge Chester. 

“ I was on my guard now, and I resolved Rutledge’s 
mother should never know I loved her son, lest she 
should warn him against me. In his mother’s absence, 
one day, Rutledge and I were married. Oh, fatal day ! 
Oh, bitter hour ! In that hour I brought my own doom 
upon my head. I had dared fate — I was to suffer its 
full vengeance. And ah ! God help me, the penalty was 
worse than death. But I must not deviate. When Rut- 
ledge’s mother returned and discovered that we had 
been suddenly married she threw up her hands with a 
wild cry, fell upon her face and never spoke again. The 
horrible secret those lips might have told died with her. 
I knew what the blow was that killed her — oh ! I knew 
but too well. 

u l hurried Rutledge away as soon as possible — always 
in trembling, guilty fear lest he should meet the Seftons 
and learn all, or at least enough to make him fear the 
future — with me. I was happy a few short months, so 
happy earth seemed a heaven to me. I had its fairest, 
sweetest gift — love. This joy was too sweet to last, 
even though I fancied myself secure. There was not a 
day, not an hour, but what I cried out exultantly to my 
own heart, ‘ I have married my love, and still no ill has 
befallen me.’ The horrible sword which hung over my 
my head in the warning, ‘ This child must never love, 
for she must never marry,’ had not fallen. 

“ I have often since cried out wildly and bitterly to 
Heaven : ‘ Why could I not have died then, in my 

youth and my happiness ?’ But I must not digress. I 
must be brief while you have the patience to listen to the 
bitter sorrow that followed,’' murmured Uldene, while 


266 


THE CURSE. 


tears fell like rain from the beautiful dark eyes and 
down the marble-white cheeks. 

The silence of death reigned throughout the densely 
packed room ; no sound broke the breathless silence 
save the quivering sob that broke from Uldene’s white 
lips as she went on with her piteous story — ah, yes, 
surely the strangest, as she had said, that ever fell from 
mortal lips. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE CURSE. 

Rutledge Chester sprang to Uldene’s side, almost 
overcome by intense emotion, but she waved him off. 

“ Do not touch my hand until you have heard all,” 
she said, piteously. “ You must not ! I pray you let me 
continue while I have the strength. Across the sun- 
shine of my happiness a dark cloud drifted, bringing 
with it — my doom. All unawares the cyclone burst 
above my head ; the volcano broke beneath my feet. 

“I was in a picture gallery one day, with the young 
girl who sits beside the prisoner — Miss Temple will 
remember the occurrence well — when suddenly I was 
aware — painfully aware — of the fixed, burning gaze of a 
pair of eyes bent upon me, and looking up, I beheld a 
stranger scrutinizing me closely, with a look that burned 
down to my very soul ; I could not tell why. I hurried 
Neddy away from the gallery, but all the way home the 
dark-bearded, evil face of the stranger haunted me. 
One evening, two days later, while walking through the 


THE CURSE. 


267 


garden at the rear of the villa, I came suddenly face to 
face with the same stranger, within the grounds. 

“ I would have cried out and turned and fled, but he 
held up his hand with a gesture of warning, calling 
cautiously, in a hoarse, awful voice : 

“ ‘ On your life raise no outcry — no alarm ; I am no 
thief, no intruder. Summon help and your doom will 
be sealed/ 

“ ‘ Who are you? What do you want here? And 
how dare you, a stranger, address me thus ?’ I cried, fairly 
raging at the man’s insolence, and trembling with dis- 
may. 

“ - One who has been searching the whole world over 
to find you, I answer to your first question,’ he said ; 
‘to the second, I say, I am here to avert — a tragedy! 
and as to the third question, as to why I, a stranger, 
dare address you, I answer, by the right of an uncle , who 
has been appointed your guardian, and who would have 
striven to prevent you, the last daughter of an accursed 
race, from marrying had it been in human power ; but 
it seems I have come too late. You are married, but I 
can save you from the doom that follows/ 

“ I stood motionless, rooted to the spot,” moaned 
Uldene, “ too terrified to cry out or utter any word. 
Like a flash the fatal words of the letter occurred to me 
— the words my young mother had uttered on her death- 
bed, that love was not for me. 

“ ‘What is your purpose here ?’ I murmured, 
desperately. 

“‘To persuade you that you must leave Rutledge 
Chester at once and forever , or I shall publicly announce 
that which will cause you to be sent from him by his own 
command — that which will cause him to turn from you 
in horror and fear too great for words. I will tell you 


268 


THE CURSE. 


first the doom which hangs over you, and which nas 
fallen upon every daughter of your race for generations 
back ; then you must choose whether you will go quietly 
back to France (from where you were stolen in your 
infancy) or enter a convent here under an assumed name, 
and where you will be shut out from the world for life. 

“ ‘ I will give you proof, first of all, that I am indeed 
what I claim to be, your uncle and guardian ; then I will 
tell you youV story/ 

“ I examined the portrait of my mother, which he had 
brought with him, which was so like my own face it 
might easily have been taken for me. Beneath it was 
my mother’s name — Uldene. I knew he spoke the truth. 
I could feel it in my heart. Every pulse thrilled as I 
gazed at the pictured face in the white, bright moonlight. 
One by one I examined the papers he had brought with 
him ; and no doubt was left in my mind but what he 
was indeed my uncle. 

“ ‘ The daughters of your race were all beautiful 
women,’ he said, slowly ; ‘ but none were so beautiful as 
you, who seem to have inherited all the beauty of your 
race. You have inherited, too, their quick, passionate 
nature. Quick to love, and to love intensely, and quite 
as quick to hate , and hate bitterly .’ 

“ I knew his words as to my disposition were quite 
true.” 

“ ‘Some three or four generations back,’ he said, 
thoughtfully, ‘ there belonged to yaur race a handsome, 
debonair, reckless fellow, who did more harm in the 
world than good. He owned a princely chateau and a 
large estate, and spent money like a prince. At the age 
of thirty he had enjoyed every happiness — every pleasure 
that life holds. Just as he was tiring of it all most pro- 
foundly, a beautiful gypsy girl chanced to cross his path. 


THE CURSE. 


269 


Her dark, glowingbeauty pleased him, and obeying a sud- 
den impulse, he made her his bride. The flame so quick to 
light in his capricious heart, as quickly died out ; and 
the fetters that bound him to the beautiful gypsy were 
galling to him, and a thousand times he cursed himself 
for wedding her ; and always to the face of her who 
would have given her life-blood for one word, one kindly 
smile from him whom she idolized as a living god. 
About this time he met a fair-haired maiden, whom, with 
him, to see was to love, and love with all the mad ardor 
of his passionate nature. But for the gypsy girl, he told 
himself, he would be free to woo and win the only woman 
he could ever love. In speaking of the matter to a bosom 
friend, he was shown a loop-hole in the marriage bond 
which held him, and he was not long in availing himself 
of the opportunity of turning the beautiful gypsy girl 
from his doors. 

“ ‘ It was on her eighteenth birthday that the beautiful 
gypsy girl fled from her husband’s home back to the 
nomadic life of her people, whom she had forsaken, and 
all for love of him. 

“ ‘ The scene between them was fierce and terrible. 
He thrust her from the grounds and maddened to 
frenzy, she attempted to draw the silver arrow that 
caught back her long, dark hair, and bury it in his faith- 
less heart. 

“ ‘ In this she failed ; but she left with him a curse 
more bitter than to have been slain by her hand would 
have been ; and this was her curse : 

That if he married the fair-haired maiden to whom 
his heart had turned, that every daughter of their race 
should be accursed ; and if they married young — as she, 
the hapless gypsy girl, had done — that their marriage 
should end in a broken heart, as hers had. , She sank 


270 THE CURSE. 

down on her knees amid the blue-bells of the open 
glade, and prayed the great spirit of her people, who 
had witnessed her dethronement, to make the eighteenth 
birthday of the daughters of his race — should he marry 
again — as memorable in sorrow as hers was on that 
day. She prayed that they might on that day lose hope 
and reason. Aye, that they flight go raving mad, as 
she yjas going ; and that their white hands on that day 
be stained with the life-blood of him whom they loved 
— the man who was found bold enough, despite her 
warning, to lead them to the altar. 

“ ‘ It was horrible — this curse the wild, untutored 
child of nature uttered ; but it has followed them/ he 
said, ‘ from generation down. Each daughter braved 
fate by marrying, and on her eighteenth birthday, her 
doom fell upon her. Bereft of reason, a tragedy 
ensued. They lifted their white hands against him 
whom, in reason, they had loved best ; but they never 
knew the sad end, for each daughter, in turn, spent her 
lonely life after that in the old stone house on the river 
road that had been set apart for their use. 

“ ‘Your mother, Uldene/ he continued, ‘was nearly 
eighteen and married, when she first heard the story, 
and, to avoid the curse, fled from her husband, taking 
you with her. The shock of the story killed her hus- 
band. Then we heard she came to America. We fol- 
lowed her, but found trace of her too late. 

“‘Now, Uldene, you see Rutledge Chester’s danger,’ 
he went on. ‘ If you love him, fly from him — save him ; 
better that than slay him, or, knowing your story, have 
him turn from you in horror, and seek measures to con- 
fine you in an insane asylum. 

“‘If you refuse to fly, I will proclaim your story to 
the world. Choose. Take your fate in your own hands.’ 


The cijpsE. 


271 


“ I went,” faltered Uldene, “although it nearly broke 
my heart to part from him. ‘ Still, I must save him 
from myself,’ I cried out to my own breaking heart. 
In my desperation, I cried out that I would enter a 
convent, and there, hidden from Rutledge and from the 
eyes of the world, end my miserable days. 

“ He was to accompany me there ; but on the journey 
Heaven interposed. There was a terrible railway 1 acci- 
dent, and he who accompanied me — aye, the whole 
world — believed that, then and there, I met my death. 
A young girl, sitting in a seat back of me, held my 
cloak and satchel, supposing I intended getting a cup 
of tea at a railway station where the train was to stop. 
I had conceived this idea while he was in the smoking- 
car ahead. I had changed my mind about entering the 
convent. I alighted from the train, it thundered on, 
and you know the rest. 

“ I read in the papers of my supposed death — how I 
had been identified by the cloak and satchel, and how, 
afterward, my supposed mutilated remains had been 
placed in the family vault by my grief-stricken husband. 

“ ‘ He believes me dead !’ I cried, with a bitter sob. 

‘ And dead to the world and to him I must ever be !’ 

“What it cost me to live apart from him only Heaven 
knows, and the pitying angels. Two years passed, and, 
famishing for one glance at his well loved face, I dared 
go to Washington, where he was. I was heavily vailed 
as I passed him by, and looked at him with yearning, 
wistful eyes ; but he did not know me. He never 
dreamed the dark-robed figure he had so carelessly 
passed by knelt on the spot where he had stood, and, 
with passionate, burning tears, kissed the cold pavement 
over which he had passed.” 


272 


“i wouldn’t marry you.” 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

“i wouldn’t marry you to save your life.” 

“ Matters might have drifted on in this way forever, 
had not an unexpected event happened,” sobbed Uldene, 
breaking down completely now, “ and that was the an- 
nouncement that greeted my eyes in the paper one day 
— of my husband’s approaching marriage. Only God 
knows what I suffered as I held the paper in my hand. 
The words seemed to stand out before my dazed eyes 
in letters of fire. My heart gave one great, awful throb, 
and I fell to the floor like one dead. It was many a day 
before I regained consciousness again, and realized 
what was transpiring around me. 

“‘Was I in time to stop the marriage?’ I asked 
myself, wildly, for it must be stopped at any cost. I 
dared not offend God and man by letting the ceremony 
go on ; and then — though severed from Rutledge as 
completely as though I were indeed dead — still he was 
my husband ; yes, he was mine — mine ! - 

“I made my way to Black-Tor Light-House, reaching 
there one hour in advance of the ceremony. I had 
barely stepped upon the island ere a man came 
hastily up the path, and I drew back into the shadow of 
the trees until he should pass. As the moonlight fell 
across his face I saw, to my horror, it was he — the man 
whom you are holding yonder — he who had wrecked my 
life by telling me the fatal story of the past — he who 
claimed to be my uncle and guardian. 

“Another step was heard, and he drew back motion- 


273 


“i wouldn’t marry you.” 

less, among the trees — so near the spot where I had 
shrunk back that I could have put out my hand and 
touched him. As the third person advanced hastily, a 
terrible imprecation burst from my guardian’s lips. 

“ ‘ It is Rutledge Chester/ he cried fiercely, below his 
breath, yet loud enough for me to hear. ‘ He shall not 
marry the woman I love to-night. I — I will kill him 
first. I owe him another grudge, too. It was he who 
forced me from the ranks of society ; he it was who 
found me out and hunted me down, discovering that I 
was a smuggler, a robber, and all that was infamous to 
his virtuous eyes ; and he even traced to me the duel 
that took place at midnight in the graveyard, back of 
the old church in the suburbs. But he little knows that 
there and then I first met sweet Verlie Sefton, and held 
her captive in our rendezvous until she escaped. I 
would never have harmed one hair of her golden head. 
I loved her too well, even though she abhorred me. I 
paid back the old debt I owed Rutledge Chester in part- 
ing his first bride from him, but it has recoiled on me. 
He is about to marry the woman I love ; but I say he 
shall die first — here and now.’ 

“ I tried to cry out, but the sound died on my lips. 
The tall form drew nearer. I, who knew Rutledge so 
well, saw that it was not he ; yet the young man 
approaching was fatally like him. In a moment he was 
abreast of the trees ; then the would-be assassin sprang 
from the shadows. I heard a cry, I saw the flash of a 
cruel weapon, and only the mercy of Heaven prevented 
it from being buried in the young man’s breast. In the 
excitement following the wounded man’s startled cry, 
the man yonder escaped. I saw Captain Lansing come 
hurriedly up the path, stumble over the prostrate form 
in surprise, and there they came upon him, it seems. 


274 


“i wouldn’t marry you.” 


“ In the confusion I made my way to Verlie, whom I 
found alone in her bridal robes. She thought me a 
ghost, at first, risen from the dead. I told her all, and 
she knew, poor girl, that her marriage with Rutledge 
could never be — he had a living wife. She could see, 
too, that I must never reveal myself to Rutledge, but 
go quietly away again. 

“ Verlie fainted, and I, with bitter tears, silently as a 
shadow, glided swiftly away. That is why poor Verlie 
has been tossing in the ravings of a brain fever ever 
since that night. Heaven soften the sorrow that will be 
hers with the return of memory. I would have gone 
down to the grave without revealing myself if it had 
not been for the pitiful crime fastened upon the inno- 
cent prisoner here, and from which I, an eye-witness, 
alone can save him from the unjust sentence of a term 
of imprisonment for long years. 

“ I have told my story — saved from infamy an honor- 
able name. I have done my duty. This is the fatal day 
— my eighteenth birthday — and here and now let me 
die. My own confession has sealed my fate, but I 
implore you not to incarcerate me in an asylum. I am 
weak. I feel that I am dying — dying. 

“I have parted you from Verlie, love,” she. sobbed, 
“but you will forgive me — forgive — I — love — you — so.” 

The words trailed off heavily from her white lips, 
and, for the first time, she turned her eyes, in affright, 
toward her handsome young husband. 

Should she find horror and dismay on his face, or 
gloomy sorrow because she had parted him from his love ? 

“ Rutledge,” she murmured, holding out her white 
arms. 

But ere he could reach her side she had fallen back in 
a deep, death-like swoon at the judge's feet. 


“i wouldn’t marry you.” 


275 


Of course, the greatest excitement reigned, and the 
stranger soon found himself in the prisoner’s box, in the 
place of noble Captain Lansing, who had been honor- 
ably discharged. 

“ I am now in the hands of the law, where you have 
always wished to behold me,” cried the stranger, turn- 
ing fiercely, yet with a mocking smile, to Rutledge Ches- 
ter ; “ but I have cheated you, after all, from wedding 
the woman I love. I wish you joy with your maniac 
bride, for such she will surely be when she recovers from 
this shock and returns to consciousness.” 

Loud cries and hisses from the crowd greeted this 
remark, and the judge, fearing personal violence to the 
prisoner, had him conveyed immediately to an inner 
room, and the throng was summarily dispersed. 

Uldene was carried to a coach, and Rutledge gave the 
order : 

“ To the nearest hotel.” 

“ Poor Uldene ! Poor, hapless Uldene !” he mur- 
mured, laying the beautiful, marble-white face against 
his bosom, while tears, that were no shame to his man- 
hood, stole down his face. “ How well you have loved 
me !” 

In that moment his heart fought a great battle with 
right and wrong. He must put Verlie out of his life 
forevermore and turn his every thought to poor Uldene. 
He was only human, dear reader, and if he shed a few 
bitter tears over his vanished hope of winning his lost 
love for his bride, we must remember “ to err is but 
human.” Let it be said of him, he struggled manfully 
to put all thoughts of Verlie’s fair face from him, and to 
learn to. face the world without her, and remember only 
Uldene, his young wife, who had been restored to him 
from the very grave, it seemed. 


276 


“i wouldn’t marry you.” 


An old physician was soon in attendance uponUldene. 
It was the same old physician, older and grayer now, 
who had held Uldene in his arms when she was a little 
babe, and who had predicted such a strange, uncommon 
life for the child as he gazed at the wee, pink palm lying 
like a crumpled rose-leaf within his own. 

“ In my opinion,” declared the doctor, “ there are no 
symptoms of hereditary insanity here, and I am counted 
an expert in such cases. I firmly believed, as I listened 
to her remarkable story to-day, that the man claiming to 
be her uncle, is, in reality, a true descendant of the gypsy 
girl she spoke of, and that for generations past they have 
deliberately set about preparing this story, which has 
been handed down from father to son, and setting it 
afloat to terrify and destroy the hapless daughters of this 
race. These frail and beautiful women were so shocked 
by the prediction, and brooded over it with such horri- 
ble anticipation, that constant brooding in time turned 
their brains and made them raving maniacs. The child 
of each fair daughter was born before this period, there- 
fore no taint of the malady was handed down to the 
child.” 

“ The man is a villain, an old offender against the 
law,” replied Rutledge. “ No crime is too atrocious for 
him to attempt. 

“ I imagine he is at the end of his rope ; he is wanted 
for too many crimes to ever again regain his freedom.” 

It is presumable that the man knew this, for in less 
than an hour there was news that he had, by his own 
hand, hurled his unforgiven soul into eternity. He left 
a written confession behind him, however, and, strange 
to say, it was almost word for word the same as the 
doctor had predicted. He was the last descendant of 
the gypsy girl, and his people had for generations back 


“i wouldn’t marry you.’’ 


277 


deliberately destroyed the fair daughters of a bonny 
race, and all for revenge’s sake. 

The man died as he had lived, unrepentant. 

While this scene was being enacted, quite another, 
and a sweeter one, was being enacted in the shady 
orange grove that skirted the beautiful island tipped by 
the silvery waves of the glistening sea. 

Two persons sat on a mossy, fallen log; they were 
pretty, capricious, black-eyed Neddy and gallant Cap- 
tain Lansing. 

“ You will answer my question, won’t you, Neddy — 
dear Neddy ?” he s^ys, winningly, edging up a little 
closer to the slender figure, and attempting to take one 
of the little, restless hands that were toying with the 
wild flowers. “You have been my staunch, true little 
friend through the darkest hours of my life. Be my sun- 
beam in brighter hours. Say that you will be my little 
bride, Neddy, darling.” 

“ I wouldn’t marry you to save your life, Captain 
Lansing,” she declares, starting up from the mossy log. 

“ Will you tell me why, Neddy ?” he persists. 

“ Because I — I — don’t care very much for you ; no, 
not a bit,” she persists ; but the blushes on the dimpled 
face tell him better. She does care for him. 

The smiling captain catches the wilful little beauty 
in his arms, and holds her there, much against her will 
— and holds her there until she has answered his ques- 
tion ; and the answer must have pleased him vastly, for, 
half an hour later, Neddy, blushing rosy red, slips into 
Verlie’s room at the great, dark light-house, and holds 
up a little white hand, on the betrothal finger of which 
a diamond glistens like a star. 

“ Oh, it’s true, Verlie,” she pants — “ quite true, after 
all. Captain Lansing loves me, and only me ; and, oh. 


278 


“live for my sake.” 

Verlie, I’m so happy ! I have promised to be his 
bride.” 

Verlie looked with quivering lips into the bright face 
so transfigured with beaming love ; and she kissed the 
girl’s ripe, red lips. 

“ May you ever be happy in your love, Neddy,” she 
whispers, softly. “ Remember, love is the sweet boon 
Heaven does not give to all.” 

Then they talk of Uldene in low, tender whispers. 

“She is very low, they say,” Neddy whispers. “ May 
God grant her life instead of death.” 

“Amen !” breathed pure, gentle Verlie, uttering the 
word in which a whole prayer was compressed with all 
her heart. 

And how fared it with Uldene at that critical 
moment ? We shall see. 


CHAPTER XL. 

“ LIVE FOR MY SAKE, DARLING !” 

All day long Uldene had lain in a death-like stupor, 
from which she aroused just as the bells in the far-off 
belfry tolled the midnight hour. 

Raising her great, dark, fathomless eyes, she saw the 
face of the good old doctor, whom she had known from 
infancy, bending over her. 

“Where am I? Have I been ill?” she murmured, 
attempting to struggle up from her pillow, but the 
effort was too much for her, and she fell backward, half 
fainting. 


279 


“live for my sake.” 

“ You are very ill, my dear,” said the doctor, gently ; 
“ so ill that your life hangs by a single thread. You 
must not exert yourself if you would live. Here, drink 
one drop of this,” he said, taking a small vial from the 
stand close by the bedside, and dropping one drop into 
a wine-glass full of cold, clear water. “ This will pro- 
duce refreshing sleep. Ten drops would be fatal. But 
you are to live.” 

He held it to Uldene’s lips, and she drank the potion, 
and shortly after the white lids closed softly over the 
great, dark, piteous eyes. 

Believing she slept, the doctor had stolen softly from 
the room, and Rutledge had taken his place at her bed- 
side ; not at the side of it, where she might awaken, 
and, seeing him there, receive a great shock to her 
nerves, but at the head of the bed, where he could watch 
Uldene, while he himself remained unseen. The sound 
of his footsteps as he approached made no sound on the 
thick velvet carpet. 

A low moan broke from Uldene’s lips, and peering 
breathlessly from behind the screen of silken curtains, 
Rutledge could see that there were tears on the long, 
dark lashes. 

“ I am to live,” she moaned, feebly — “ live to curse the 
life of the one being on earth I would die to make happy 
— live to be a barrier between Rutledge and the girl he 
loves — live to know that he hates me, and will rue the 
hour life struggled back to the breast that should have 
been stilled in death. 

“Oh, Rutledge, love of my life, you will never know 
how my heart bleeds for you.” A moan that was most 
pitiful to hear broke from her white lips. “ What is my 
life and my poor, blind, worshipful love to you, dear ? 
I, whose love has been your doom ? But I will repair 


280 


U LIYE foe my sake.” 

the terrible wrong I have done you in taking you from 
Verlie. You shall be free to woo and win her for your 
bride, love — yes you shall be free at the cost of my own 
poor, worthless life. 

She put out her feeble hand toward the little marble 
stand close by the bedside, and grasped one of the vials, 
and held it up in the flickering light, murmuring, 
faintly : 

“ He said one drop of this gave strength, while ten 
meant death, swift, sure, and with but one fierce throb 
of pain. Ten drops, then, shall be my portion ; and as I 
drink it let the sweet thought sustain me that I am giv- 
ing my life — yes, my life — to make my darling happy, 
for then he will wed Verlie, whom he loves. He will 
never know that his happiness was purchased with my 
life — never know that my last words were, ‘ Oh, love of 
my heart ! my darling husband, farewell !” 

Uldene raised the vial to her lips. Its liquid contents 
flashed like gleaming pearls in the flickering light ; but 
it was dashed from the little hand by a stronger one, 
and a hoarse, thrilling cry echoed through the silence of 
the room : 

“ Uldene, my wife ! live for my sake ! for my love !” 

The voice and the words thrilled poor Uldene’s heart 
to the core. In that one supreme moment Rutledge 
Chester’s heart was touched and awakened as it had 
never been touched before. 

When one moment of silence would have given him 
his heart’s desire, his freedom back again, he had awak- 
ened to the truth. Uldene, his young wife, was dearer 
to him than all the world beside. In that awful moment 
he had chosen between Verlie and Uldene — yes, his 
heart had gone out to poor hapless Uldene, who would 


LIVE FOR MY SAKE. 


a 


jj 


23 L 


have given her young life to have purchased his hap- 
piness. 

A true, deep love, such as he had never felt for Uldene, 
even in the old days, came to him now. 

The great strength and depth of Uldene’s love had, 
in that supreme moment when her life hung in the 
balance, won his in return. 

He clasped the frail form of this poor, desolate girl- 
bride in his strong arms, pillowed her dark, curly head 
on his breast, murmuring, brokenly : 

“ Live for my sake, Uldene. I have heard all. Live, 
and we will commence life anew, and be all the world 
to each other.” 

Two white arms stole around his neck, and a joy that 
he never forgot came into her beautiful face. 

“ Is this a dream, Rutledge?” she whispered, nestling 
closely, fearfully within the shelter of those strong 
arms. “ If this is but a dream, let me die dreaming 
thus. Oh, Rutledge, has my great love won you at 
last ?” 

As soon as Uldene was able to travel, Rutledge took 
her abroad, leaving behind a farewell note to Verlie, 
every line of which Uldene heartily endorsed. 

Rutledge and Uldene remained abroad two years, 
and, returning at the end of that time, the first persons 
whom they met as they landed were Captain Lansing 
and his bride, piquant, gay Neddy still. 

“You ought to have come a week earlier,” she de- 
clared, giving Uldene a hearty school-girl hug. “ Oh 
we had such a grand wedding in Washington, and, oh, 
the bride was just perfectly lovely. Guess who she 
was.” 

“ Not you, surely, Neddy ; you’ve been married longer 
than that.” 


282 


U LIVE FOR MY SAKE.” 

“ Me /” cried Neddy, aghast. “ Do you think I’d speak 
of myself as ‘ perfectly lovely ?’ I’ll let other people say 
that,” she added, with a saucy little roguish laugh. 

“ The description would be by no means out of the 
way, Neddy,” laughed Rutledge Chester. 

“ But it wasn’t me,” declared Neddy. “ You both 
seem determined not to guess right ; so, as I’m dying to 
tell, you may as well know that it was — Verlie. She 
has married my brother Dick. He always adored her, 
poor fellow, but there were always so many rivals in the 
path, and he, being bashful, always thought he hadn’t 
the least ghost of a chance of winning her.” 

Rutledge Chester and Captain Lansing looked at 
each other, blushed, and turned away smiling. 

Both were secretly pleased that sweet Verlie had 
become the bride of Richard Temple, for no better fel- 
low lived than he. 

Our story is ended, dear reader, unless it is to state that 
three handsome villas, side by side, grace one of the 
finest avenues of the gay capital, and in one of them 
dwell Rutledge and his idolized young wife, who is now 
the pride of his heart and home ; in the next mansion 
lives Captain Lansing and Neddy ; and last, but not 
least, is the imposing home in which fair Verlie and her 
husband live, and are the most devoted couple to each 
other the sun ever shone upon. 

Every one at the gay capital knows the strange, roman- 
tic story of these three pretty brides, and how their lives 
were entangled at one time so cruelly by the hand of 
cruel fate ; and they tell, too, how happy they are now ; 
for in this world, out of darkness, through trials and 
crosses, 

“ Every heart finds its own true mate 
Some time in life ; for this is fate,” 


283 


“live for my sake.” 

Mark Sefton and Nella are welcome guests at the three 
mansions. So is Miss Lennox, the poor, patient crea- 
ture who was Uldene’s friend in her hour of need ; and, 
if report speaks truly, she will not be Miss much longer. 

Verlie and Uldene never referred to the past but once, 
and that was to murmur, as they twined their arms 
around each other as they had done in sunny childhood : 

“ It is best that everything happened as it did, Uldene. 
The mystery that shadowed your early life is a mystery 
no longer* And if Rutledge and I had not been parted 
by fate at the very altar almost, I would never have been 
Dick’s bride.” 

And in their happiness we will leave them, dear reader, 
remembering the course of true love never does run 
smooth, but, to quote happy, dark-eyed Uldene’s words, 
“ All's well that ends well.” 


THE END. 



Five Years 

WITH THE 

Congo Cannibals. 

49 

By HERBERT WARD. 


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By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN. 


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